


Do I Wanna Know

by believeinmycroft



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Band Fic, Bisexuality, Derek POV, Derek is terrible at emotions, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Language, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Smut, Stiles is such a fanboy, but seriously this is mostly fluffy stupidness with a side of smut, gratuitous pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believeinmycroft/pseuds/believeinmycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been obsessed with the rock band Full Moon Trigger for as long as he can remember, but it's not just their music he loves - like most of the fanbase, he's crazy about the lead singer and guitarist, a mysterious, ridiculously attractive man known only as 'D'. So when the opportunity to actually <i>meet</i> the guy comes up, Stiles leaps at the chance - but he soon discovers that life has a habit of surprising you just when you least expect it.</p><p>In which Stiles is a hopelessly awkward fanboy, Derek has a voice like an angel, and a late-night misunderstanding after a concert ignites something special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles Wants The D

_‘–wanna take you into my arms,_

_feel your breath on my cheek –‘_

‘Stiles …’

_‘–underneath the full moon,_

_get lost in your eyes –‘_

‘Stiles.’

_‘ – breathe you in, baby,_

_breathe you in …’_

‘Stiles!’

Suddenly the music stopped, and Stiles’ eyes flew open. He rubbed them blearily as he sat up straight, looking confusedly at his best friend, who was holding his headphones in one hand. Stiles must have fallen asleep at some point, at least if the stiffness in his neck and the fog hanging over his brain was anything to go by.

‘Scott, what the hell are you doing here? Not that I don’t always appreciate your company, but I was listening-‘

‘-to Full Moon Trigger, I know Stiles, jesus.’ Scott rolled his eyes. ‘They’re literally all you listen to anymore.’

‘I listen to other bands …’ Stiles frowned, bouncing his foot anxiously on the floor. That was a lie, and they both knew it.

‘Hey dude, I’m not judging you.’ Scott held up his hands in defence. ‘I like them too. Just thought you might like to know it’s already six o’clock.’ He gestured to the clock on Stiles’ bedside table, which showed _6:02_ in glowing green letters. Stiles’ mouth fell open.

‘Shit, the concert starts in less than two hours!’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Scott, grinning, ‘I’m driving you, remember? You should get ready.’

Stiles groaned. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to get rid of the sleepiness still threatening to pull him under.

‘I must’ve drifted off at some point,’ he said through a yawn. ‘How long have you been here for?’ He looked up and narrowed his eyes. ‘Were you watching me sleep?’

Scott stared. ‘Yes, Stiles, I was definitely watching you sleep. I broke in through your window, after I murdered your dad, sacrificed a small deer to the gods, you know-‘

Stiles cut him off with a laugh. ‘Holy shit, dude, even I’m not _that_ sarcastic.’

The look Scott gave him showed he clearly thought the opposite.

‘I am totally _not_ sarcastic,’ Stiles said with a grin, ‘not at all. Anyway,’ he stood up, ‘I need to take a shower, so I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen, alright?’

Scott smiled. ‘No problems.’

☾

Water cascaded onto the tiles, swirling in circular patterns down the drain. Steam rose languidly, fogging up the mirror’s glass, until Stiles could only make out the faintest smudge of his outline: messy brown hair, a jaw that wasn’t _quite_ strong enough to be really attractive, scrawny shoulders, arms, legs ... Stiles turned away, grimacing. He wished he’d thought to work out before the concert tonight, especially since _he_ would be there.

Stiles stepped into the stream of hot water, but although it relaxed the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders, it did nothing to ease the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting a bit. But he was going to see Full Moon Trigger, aka his all-time favourite band, in less than two hours, for the first time ever - it was okay for him to be overexcited, even a bit nervous. And then Stiles thought about the possibility of seeing D live, of actually meetinghim, and he thought his legs would buckle right then and there in the shower.

D was the lead guitarist and singer of Full Moon Trigger, and he was a _god._ He wrote most of their songs, was a master of the guitar, and no one, literally no one, knew what his real name was. He went only by the initial ‘D’ and never did interviews. No one knew where or when he was born, or what his real life was like, or anything about him other than that he’d started Full Moon Trigger with three other guys in high school, and that he was probably in his early twenties.

He was also really, really fucking _hot._

When Stiles had started listening to them a few years ago, he’d been struck by the heartbreaking emotion D had conveyed through his voice, amazed at the complexity and the beauty of the music. He’d thought he’d gotten as obsessed as he could be, buying every album he could get his hands on (even though they’d only recorded three, damnit), getting most of their merchandise and posters, and admittedly starting a blog for the sole purpose of stalking the band through social media, even though all that ever consisted of was reblogging pictures of them in concert and the rare gif.

The problem was that in concert the whole band always wore masks - all shaped like various wolf faces - and they were never photographed in public, so no one had really known what their faces looked like – at least, until a year ago when pictures were leaked online of the band, unmasked and shirtless on a beach somewhere in Europe. The whole internet had promptly gone apeshit and Stiles had totally _not_ squealed like a little girl when he saw what D had looked like without his mask. He had also totally not saved the close-up of D’s face as his phone background. Or stared at it several times a day for the next six months.

But Stiles couldn’t help it – the man was gorgeous beyond belief. Perfect hair, perfect white teeth, dark, soulful eyes, and brooding eyebrows. And that jaw, holy shit. Stiles was sure you could cut your hand open on all those perfect angles and that perfect, beautiful bone structure. D had looked just as amazing as Stiles had imagined he would be, during all those nights when he had fallen in love with the man’s music.

He may or may not have a little crush, although ‘little’ was probably (okay, definitely) understating it. And he was going to _see_ him tonight, with his own eyes – not through a computer screen or printed on the pages of a glossy magazine, but with his own eyes. He was simultaneously excited beyond belief and terrified of freaking out like a dorky preteen, but he knew one thing for sure: he was going to try his best to meet D tonight, no matter what it took. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be this close to his idol. He just hoped he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself.

Abruptly the water started to run cold, bringing up goosebumps on his pale skin, and Stiles turned off the tap reluctantly, letting out a shaky breath. Water dripped off the damp tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck, rolling slowly down his spine.

He stepped onto the bathmat and reached for his towel, drying his messy hair with the fluffy white. He wiped the bathroom mirror with one hand, leaving small spaces the size of his fingers streaked across it. Stiles looked at his reflection, saw his cheeks flushed from the steam, wet hair stuck to his forehead, eyes wide and nervous.

He closed his eyes and remembered a relaxation exercise a therapist had once taught him. He thought it like a mantra, a prayer; slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. _Breathe in for four counts_. _Out for four. Breathe in for four. Out for four. In. Out. In … Out … In ..... Out ......._

☾

Scott picked some crappy Top 40 station for the drive to the concert, but Stiles didn’t mind much – he was far too busy twiddling his thumbs and trying not to go into shock from sheer giddiness. After the minor freak-out in the shower he’d calmed down enough to realise that _holy shit he was going to see Full Moon Trigger for the first time oh my god oh my god oh my god_ and all his awkward nerves had vanished at the thought of just how much fun he was going to have tonight. 

He and Scott babbled on about the new Star Wars trailer for most of the trip, and it wasn’t until they were discussing whether Jar Jar Binks or Ewoks were more annoying that Stiles realised they were on the outskirts of Sacramento. Which meant they were very close.

He turned back to Scott, bouncing his leg in excitement.

‘Just because Ewoks are cute doesn’t mean they aren’t annoying!’ Stiles continued.

‘That’s exactly what it means,’ said Scott. ‘There’s a direct correlation between something being annoying and something being cute’ - he moved his finger through the air, plotting an imaginary graph – ‘if something is cute enough, it ceases to be annoying; if it’s annoying enough, it ceases to be cute. Therefore the two cancel each other out, but _only_ if one is much stronger than the other.’ He flashed a smug grin at Stiles. ‘I call it’ – he paused for dramatic effect – ‘the McCall Principle.’

The car interior was silent for a moment, and then:

‘Did you seriously just make that up?’

‘You bet your fanboy ass I did.’

‘That is honestly in the top five dumbest things you’ve ever said to me.’

‘So you’re making a list now?’ Scott raised his eyebrows, eyes wide in mock sadness. ‘And I thought we were friends, Stiles.’

‘Nope. You destroyed our friendship last week when you told me you thought Watchmen was boring.’

‘Are you _still_ mad about that?’

‘It’s Watchmen, Scott! It’s regarded as one of the greatest books of all time, it single-handedly created a new wave of intelligent graphic novels, and don’t even mention the critical acclai-‘

‘We’re here.’

‘Wha-?’ Stiles looked out the window, eyes widening. They were down the street from a club, tinny music leaking out of the thick wooden doors. Dozens of people milled about on the pavement outside, smoking, laughing, lots of them dressed in various shades of black. He could see a few of them wearing shirts bearing the famous Full Moon Trigger logo – a black wolf howling at a red moon. Stiles bit his lip to stop from squealing, because he was a man, damnit. A very manly man who did not squeal.

Scott pulled over to the side of the street and put the car in park.

‘Thanks for driving me,’ Stiles said as the engine faded into silence. ‘You know I appreciate it, man.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Scott, ‘it’s no problem, seriously, I needed to come to the city to buy Allison a half-decent birthday present anyway. Plus, it’s not like you could’ve, uh, driven yourself, or anything …’

Stiles grimaced. The weather had been terrible recently, so cold at night that Stiles was sure he was going to get frostbite at some point, and was sure he would’ve already if not for keeping his heater on full blast most of the time. That morning he’d attempted to start up his beloved jeep, only to have it die on him immediately. When it’d been impossible to get it going again he’d had a look at the engine and seen some small, presumably important part of it frosted over. To make things even worse, it had snapped in his hands when he tried to scrape the ice off, and he’d stared at it dumbly for a moment before going to ask his dad if it was important for the car to run. Apparently it had been, because the sheriff had sighed in disapproval at the piece of slowly dripping metal in Stiles’ hand and gently suggested that he call a mechanic. Thank god for Scott, who was kind enough to answer his frenzied calls and agree to drive him for more than an hour to the concert.

‘You’re a good friend,’ said Stiles, grinning.  

‘And don’t I know it,’ murmured Scott darkly, but Stiles saw a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. ‘You remembered to book the hotel room, right?’

‘Duh,' said Stiles, rolling his eyes. He’d decided to stay in the city for the night, reasoning that he’d probably be too hyped to drive back safely at midnight. Scott probably could’ve picked him up afterwards, since he was here already, but Stiles wouldn’t be able to get back the deposit he’d put down a week ago. Also _,_ he was looking forward to room service.

Stiles opened the car door, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stepped out. ‘See you tomorrow, then?’

‘See you tomorrow, Stiles. Have fun tonight.’ Scott winked suggestively and Stiles rolled his eyes. _Like that would ever happen._

☾

The club was warmer than he had thought it would be, and after a few minutes he had to take off the jacket he was wearing, stuffing it into his bag alongside the rest of the stuff he’d brought; a water bottle, some bandaids and aspirin (he liked to be prepared, so what?), his fully charged phone, and a small change of clothes for the next day.

He leant against the wall of the club, trying to appear as non-awkward as possible, although that was sort of impossible considering he was by himself and completely sober, and way too excited about seeing the band. He half-regretted getting here so early – the band wasn’t due on until 8:30, which meant he had a good half hour to kill, and he was worried about going on his phone too much in case it used up the battery.

Stiles folded his arms and tapped out an uneven rhythm with his foot, scanning the crowd. Everybody was pretty much in their own groups, standing around and drinking, or on their phones, faces glowing eerily blue in the dim light. There were only a few people like him, alone and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, and Stiles was debating whether or not he should try to start a conversation with someone. But thankfully he didn’t have to, because someone else started it for him.

‘Hi,’ said a quiet voice next to him, and Stiles’ head whipped around so quickly it almost hurt his neck. At some point a girl had sidled up next to him, but Stiles hadn’t even noticed her until she spoke. She was beautiful, with long brown hair and deep, soulful eyes. She was also strangely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

‘Uh, hi,’ he said, voice cracking much to his embarrassment. ‘Can I, um, help you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You just looked like you could use some company.’ She smiled, flashing a set of pearly whites.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but smiled despite himself. ‘Was I that obvious?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really, I’m just very perceptive.’

Stiles raised an eyebrow, and was dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open. The words were out of his mouth before he even realised. ‘Who the hell are you?’

The smile faded instantly from her face, and Stiles backtracked quickly.

‘No! I didn’t mean it like that, I meant, like, what’s your name, because, um, you’re interesting, and uh …’ He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

He glanced up nervously to see that her lips were pursed, the corners upturned, almost like she was trying to hold back laughter.

‘It’s alright, I think I know what you meant,’ she smiled. ‘So, what’s your name?’

‘I’m Stiles,’ he said, noting that she'd avoided his question but not wanting to press it. ‘Are you a big fan of, uh’ – he nodded towards the stage – ‘the band?’

‘You could say that,’ she said. ‘I don’t really listen to their music that much, but I do like it. I’m actually here for my brother.’

‘Really? Is your brother, like, a roadie, or something?’

‘Yeah, something like that.’ She smiled and looked away, and Stiles was about to ask her what she meant by that when the lights went dim. People began to move closer to the stage, voices hushed in excited whispers, and Stiles walked forward subconsciously until he remembered the girl. He looked over his shoulder and motioned towards the stage, but she shook her head.

‘You sure?’ he said. He didn’t want to abandon her, but at the same time he really wanted to get a good spot close to the stage.

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, ‘I’ve seen them play heaps of times already.’

Stiles shrugged and smiled. ‘It was nice talking to you, then.’

She grinned. ‘You too, Stiles.’

It wasn’t until he was as close to the stage as possible that he realised he’d never gotten her name, but by then the lights had gone even darker and the band was walking onstage, and holy shit, Stiles actually _swooned._

D was so, _so_  much hotter in real life. Stiles had thought he was hot on a computer screen, but seeing someone on the internet was nothing compared to seeing them less than twenty feet away in the flesh. D strutted forward on the stage, his famous black wolf mask covering most of his face, but Stiles could see his mouth, and oh wow, that pink flesh was much harder to look away from when he could see just how perfect those lips were in real life. D darted out a tongue to lick his lips, just a quick swipe that left behind a dab of moisture sparkling in the stage lights, and all of the blood in Stiles’ head suddenly rushed south - that was probably why he decided to scream out ‘I love you D!’ at the top of his lungs. A few people around him giggled, and he ducked his head with embarrassment. He looked up after a second and could’ve sworn he saw the corners of D’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.  
  
And then D raised a hand, guitar pick held delicately between two long ( _so perfectly long_ ) fingers, and Stiles held his breath.

The first chord sent shockwaves through the room, bass thundering like an aeroplane taking off, and it sent deep shivers down Stiles’ spine. Before long he was lost in the music, swaying from side to side and mouthing the words to every song, pumping his fist in the air for the choruses. This was better than he’d ever imagined, something he hadn’t thought possible. He closed his eyes, and breathed.

☾

It wasn’t until the lights finally came back on, after a second encore that finished far too soon, that Stiles realised he’d been staring at D for most of the past two hours, drinking in the man’s features and voice and beauty and everything, barely giving the other musicians a passing glance. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. Stiles ran a hand over his face and it came away almost wet with perspiration. He grinned, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

People started to trickle slowly away from the stage, some going to the bar, others heading for the exit, and a few standing around in circles and chatting excitedly about the concert, waiting for something to happen.

Stiles was about to go to the toilet when he remembered the girl from before. He glanced over at the wall where she’d been leaning a couple of hours ago, but she was gone and he felt a pang of sadness that he hadn’t even caught her name. He shook off the feeling and stumbled to the grimy stairs that led to the toilet, shaking slightly. He was prone to having way too much nervous energy at the best of times; now with the sharp buzz of excitement coursing through his body, he couldn’t seem to control it at all.

A splash of cold water a few minutes later and he felt better, more relaxed, his mind a bit less frantic. He was just about to leave when two roadies walked in – at least, that’s what he assumed they were, judging by the black shirts and walkie-talkies hanging off their jeans. They stood at the urinals, chatting amiably, and Stiles couldn’t help but listen in to their conversation.

‘-lock to the door’s broken, tried fixing it-‘

‘Did you call a guy?’

‘Not yet, management says they’re going to do it tomorrow, no use in fixing it up so late, right?’

‘Still, you wouldn’t want someone sneaking in …’

‘Dude, no one’s going to sneak in because no one knows where it is-‘

‘It’s not exactly hard to find, though, just outside the e-‘

‘Dude, shut up!’ He threw a glare over his shoulder at Stiles, who pretended that he wasn’t listening at all and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

‘ _Anyway,_ ’ the man said, turning back to his friend, ‘we’ll get it fixed tomorrow. Should be fine. Though D’s not happy about it.’

Stiles’ ears perked up at the name.

‘Can see why he’d be pissed though, it’s a big problem …’

They washed their hands and walked out of the toilet, voices fading into the distance.

Stiles grinned, heart pounding in his chest. He was going to find D.

☾

Thirty minutes later Stiles was standing outside in the moonlight, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He leant against the cool brick and waited for the last of the fans to leave. Anyone who was any kind of fan knew that the band never did autographs and it was useless sticking around for photos, so it was only a few minutes before the last couple of stragglers had trailed away from the club.

From his position against the wall, Stiles could see the door he thought the crew had been talking about – down a narrow alleyway, dimly lit by flickering orange neon, and painted a dull brown to blend into the wall - if you hadn’t been looking for it, you wouldn’t have known it was there. And incredibly, Stiles noted, there wasn’t a single guard in sight. _Awesome._ He was in luck.

Stiles waited until he was absolutely sure no one was watching before darting down the alleyway, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The door loomed in front of him, and after a final quick glance around, he carefully pushed it open with his shoulder.

The corridor inside was nicer – and cleaner - than he’d imagined it might be, and a warm yellow glow threw light onto the doors lining the left wall. Stiles quietly shut the alleyway door and walked forward. He put his ear to the first door, listening for something, _anything_ that might give him an indication if D was inside. But he heard nothing.

He tried again with the next door, and the next one, growing more disappointed each time he heard nothing, and was about to put his ear against the fourth when he heard loud footsteps coming from somewhere up around a bend in the corridor.

Stiles froze. _Shit shit shit_ ran on an endless loop in his brain.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Stiles tried to open the door he’d had his ear pressed against, and mercifully it was unlocked. He stepped inside, shutting it quickly and leaning his forehead against the wood, holding his breath as the sound of footsteps rose and fell on the other side. He sighed in relief, glad to be safe from that too-close encounter.

And then someone cleared their throat behind him, and Stiles forgot how to breathe.

Terrified of what might happen and who it might be, Stiles turned very, very slowly, and was greeted by a sight not entirely different from one of his – admittedly too numerous – fantasies.

D raised an eyebrow – _a perfect, beautiful eyebrow_ – but said nothing, leaving Stiles free to ogle for a moment.

He was stretched, languid, on a couch against the far wall, muscled arms hooked over the back, his shirt riding up just enough that Stiles could see a thin band of tanned flesh just above the waistline of his jeans. It took all of Stiles’ focus to drag his eyes away from that ridiculously appetizing line of skin and actually look at D’s face.

One blurry paparazzi photo could never do the man justice, Stiles realised instantly.

He was _gorgeous._ Absolutely, mind-blowingly, perfectly, mouth-wateringly _gorgeous,_ and infinitely more so in real life than Stiles could’ve possibly imagined. Especially without the mask hiding his features.

He suddenly realised that D hadn’t said a word since he’d come in, apparently content to let Stiles stare at him, but now D rose from the couch and walked slowly towards him, arms folded and an unreadable look on his face.

He tried to talk, tried to say anything at all, but the closer D got the more the words caught in his throat.

‘I-I’m, uh, a big fan,’ Stiles finally stammered, resisting the violent urge to smack himself in the forehead. _Eloquent as always, Stiles._

D stopped about a foot from him – _and_ _wow, that was kind of incredibly close, holy shit_ – and smirked. ‘They usually are.’

Before Stiles could even think about what the hell that meant, D reached up and cupped Stiles’ jaw in one, warm hand.

Stiles froze, heart leaping in his chest. He could feel the calluses of D’s fingers where they grazed over his cheek, the heartbeat in the man’s thumb lightly pounding against his skin, D’s _breath_ fanning across his face, and he couldn’t move a single muscle.

But that was nothing compared to when D moved his hand to the back of Stiles’ neck and entwined his fingers in the messy hair, pulling him forward just enough that he could lean down, breath mingling with Stiles'. Their noses brushed and Stiles felt a thrill shoot down right to the tips of his toes, and D’s breath was warm and heavy on his lips, and that was when Stiles came crashing back to earth. He closed the gap and pressed their lips together, and it was like a fire had ignited under his skin, warmth blooming in his chest.

D’s mouth moved roughly against his own, a warm slide of lips against lips, and Stiles tried desperately to remember all the stuff he’d ever read about being a good kisser, but all of that vanished out of his mind when he felt his bottom lip tugged gently by D’s teeth, and all he could do was moan. Stiles sighed deeply into D’s mouth and lifted a trembling hand, weaving it into the taller man’s hair, lost in bliss and not quite sure how he had gotten there. One of D’s hands strayed down and grabbed at Stiles’ hip, warm and rough against the sensitive skin just underneath his shirt, and Stiles moaned again into D’s mouth, unable to control himself, running his hands through D’s hair and over his face, and finally down his waist, pausing just above his jeans, the movement an unspoken question.

D finally broke off the kiss, lips red and moist, and it stunned Stiles to think that he was the one who’d done that to him.

‘Couch?’ D said, and Stiles’ legs almost gave out on him.

‘God, _yes,_ ’ he replied, letting himself be pulled across the room.

D pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing a literal ocean of perfect abs, and god, that just wasn’t _fair,_ but then Stiles didn’t actually mind so much because D had grabbed his head and pulled it towards his chest. Stiles slowly kissed down, tongue lingering over the smooth lines of his muscles, until he was mouthing at the fine trail of hair leading below the waistband of D’s jeans, eliciting low grunts from the other man as he sat down on the edge of the sofa. 

He tried to unbutton D’s jeans but his fingers were trembling so much that the other man swatted them away after a moment, unbuttoning in a flash and slipping them off onto the ground, along with his boxers. And then Stiles could only stare and stare.

D’s dick could seriously not be that big. It boggled his mind, staring at it, and for a second he wondered if he was even going to be able to fit in his mouth. And then he had to reach down and press firmly against his own dick, because he was going to come way too soon from the mental image of him sucking D off. _Holy shit._

‘You just gonna stare at it?’ D said after a moment, and Stiles glanced up to see him gazing down with a mildly irritated expression.

Stiles answered by leaning down and taking the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. D groaned in pleasure, deep enough that the sound vibrated through the hand Stiles had splayed on his stomach, and Stiles moaned around the cock in his mouth.

He hadn’t sucked anyone off for ages, but judging by the sounds D was making and the fingers clenched in his hair, he was doing pretty fucking well. It was so big, but Stiles tried his best to fit as much of the length in his mouth as possible, only stopping when he almost triggered his gag reflex. D moaned something that vaguely sounded like ‘you’re a good one,’ but Stiles was too caught up to think much about it.

He licked a stripe up to the tip, savouring the salty taste, the feel of warm flesh against his tongue, the rise and fall of D’s chest beneath his hand. He was lost in the sensation of D pressing against him, in his low whimpers and shaky breath and his trembling thighs, in the fire burning in his eyes whenever Stiles glanced up. And if Stiles could look in a mirror, he was sure he would’ve looked the same.

It might have been a minute or twenty, Stiles wasn’t sure, but D’s hands clenched painfully in his hair in a silent warning and Stiles sped up his movements, bringing him over the edge with one final stroke. 

D fell back onto the couch, wiping a hand over his face. Stiles leant back on his knees, painfully aware of how hard he was and how much his jeans were constricting him. He rested his hands awkwardly on D’s thighs, waiting until he finally looked up – and then pointedly down at Stiles’ crotch.

‘Let me do that,’ he said, ignoring Stiles’ feeble attempts at batting him away.

‘You don’t have to, really-‘ Stiles began to say, but by then his jeans were somehow already unbuttoned and D’s hand was slipping in and grasping him, surprisingly gentle, and _oh holy shit goddamn I’m gonna-_

He came harder than he had in a long time, not sure if his string of curses and _oh my gods_ were actually said out loud or just screamed internally, but he didn’t care because all his world had focussed down to the feel of D’s hand around him and an arm slung around his back, holding him up as his knees weakened and his head fell forward onto D’s collarbone, the aftershocks shuddering through his body.

A hand moved briefly through his messy hair, oddly tender, but then pulled away just as quickly. Stiles wondered about the sudden movement, but was too content and warm in D’s arms to do much of anything at the moment.

Their breathing settled until the room was quiet, the loudest sound D’s heartbeat faintly beating against Stiles’ ear. He made a small noise of protest when D moved his hand to Stiles’ chest, pushing him up so they were face to face.

Lips pink and wet, cheeks flushed, eyes burning with an internal fire, he was so ridiculously beautiful Stiles almost forgot how to breathe. On a whim, D watching him warily the whole time, he leant forward and gently pressed their lips together. 

It wasn’t like their kiss before, Stiles thought, as he slowly raised a hand to cup the other man’s jaw – it was soft, almost hesitant, less of an intense, lust-filled slide of lips against lips and more a slow dance that left you light-headed and weak in the knees. Pure, innocent almost, but with the promise of something special, something more. 

It lasted only a few seconds before D relented and pushed Stiles back, gently but firmly. Their lips parted with a muted sound, and they were left staring at each other, D's face unreadable.

Finally D moved, this time to stand up and button up his jeans. He picked up a tissue from a nearby table and wiped down his stomach, and Stiles looked pointedly away, heat rising in his cheeks. D grabbed his shirt and pulled it on without a word, and Stiles followed suit, standing up and fixing his jeans. His legs were still weak.

‘So,’ D said slowly, and Stiles’ head snapped up.

‘Yeah?’

‘How much do I owe you for this one?’

Stiles was thoroughly confused. ‘Uh, what? What do you mean, “owe”?’

D rolled his eyes. ‘You must be a newbie. The _payment,_ how much do you get paid for something like this? The agency usually has a fixed rate …’

And that was when it hit Stiles.

_D, smirking and saying ‘they usually are’ when Stiles said he was a fan._

_D, saying ‘you’re a good one,’ when Stiles was sucking him off._

_How much do I owe you?_

He was so fucking  _stupid._  

D obviously thought that Stiles was some sort of gay escort or prostitute or some shit, and suddenly, Stiles felt sick to his stomach. He’d been an idiot to think that D was actually kissing him because he _liked_ Stiles. _Of course he wasn’t._

But he had to cut off his self-pity fest because D was looking at him with a cocked eyebrow and Stiles had to answer with something.

Eventually he decided to just tell the truth.

‘I’m just a fan,’ he said, voice quiet.

D’s face went blank. ‘What?’

‘I’m just a fan,’ Stiles repeated, looking down. ‘I snuck in here because I wanted to ask you for an autograph, or something …’ he snorted. ‘Didn’t expect this to happen.’ _That was putting it lightly._

D was silent and Stiles looked up, nervous. His face was blank, but Stiles swore he could see a vein twitching in his neck. _Shit._

‘Are you serious?’ D finally said, and Stiles shrank back at the menacing tone in his voice.

‘Yes,’ he admitted quietly, ‘but I swear I won’t tell anyone.’ He held up a hand. ‘Scout’s honour.’ He gave a weak chuckle.

If the glower D was giving him was any indication, he didn’t appreciate the joke.

‘Okay,’ Stiles said slowly, rocking back and forth on his heels and trying desperately to think of something to say. Finally he landed on one thing he'd always wanted to know, and figured now was as good a time as any, since he obviously couldn't make the whole conversation more awkward than it already was. ‘Um, can I just, super quickly, ask you a question?’

D didn’t answer, instead opting for a glare.

‘I’ll take that for a yes, then,’ said Stiles. ‘I was just wondering, like, what’s your real name? I’m kinda tired of referring to you as D in my head.’

Apparently that was all it took because one second D was on the other side of the room and the next he was in front of Stiles, clutching his shirt tightly in one hand.

‘You tell _anyone_ about what just happened,’ D growled, teeth clenched, ‘and I destroy your life, got it?’

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Stiles said quietly, placing his hand over the one grabbing his shirt. ‘I promise.’

Something odd flickered in D’s eyes, but then he dropped his hand and Stiles smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt, trying to ignore just how quickly his heart was pounding.

‘You promise?’ D said, and Stiles nodded.

‘Promise.’

D huffed. ‘For some reason I believe you, but I, uh-‘ he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a movement Stiles found oddly endearing, ‘I still have to get you to sign a non-disclosure form.’

‘Oh.’ The thought that D did this so often he had a fucking _form_ for people to fill out made Stiles’ heart clench painfully in his chest. ‘No problem.’

D found one for him, sitting on a nearby table, and as Stiles signed it he tried to ignore the fact that D had probably had it waiting for whatever escort he’d been expecting. And that totally did _not_ piss Stiles off to no end, not at all.

On a whim he grabbed a blank piece of paper and scribbled his phone number down, handing it to D along with the form. D stared at it, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. Stiles resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it with his thumb, instead gesturing to the piece of paper.

‘That’s my, um, phone number,’ he said, ‘You know, if for whatever reason, you, uh …’ He trailed off, the air awkward between them, and sighed. ‘You know what, just forget it,’ he said, looking at the ground. He scratched the back of his neck out of embarrassment. ‘I’m just gonna leave now.’

D snorted, and Stiles looked up in time to see the faint hint of a smile flicker across his face. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, and Stiles subconsciously leant forward in anticipation.

D grimaced, looking down, and finally muttered, ‘It is getting pretty late.’

Stiles tried not to let the obvious dismissal get to him too much, stepping to the side and picking up his bag from the floor, where he'd dropped it after he first came in. He opened the door to D’s dressing room and the yellow glow from outside threw twisted shadows on the floor.

He stepped into the corridor, disappointment sinking deep into his chest, and was about to close the door when D cleared his throat. Stiles spun around, eyebrow raised.

‘My name’s Derek.’

Stiles’ mouth fell open as the door closed, and in the last second before the door swung shut, he could’ve sworn he saw a smile on the other man’s face. He leant heavily against the door, hand clasped to his mouth to hide the wide grin slowly spreading across his lips.

His name was _Derek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles got the D ;) ;) 
> 
> In all seriousness, this chapter ended up being so much longer than I'd thought it would be, but I'm really glad with how it turned out. I've had this idea floating around in my head for ages and I'm so happy to finally get it down - I'll try to update at least once a week, but no promises cause, ya know, university and all that.


	2. But Now I'm Bored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Uni's all finished now so hopefully these chapters won't be so far apart now. Enjoy :)

Stiles sat at his desk, twirling a pen idly between his fingers. He stared at his computer screen, an article about a new movie or something, but he was too distracted at the moment to be bothered reading it. Music leaked out of the laptop’s speakers, guitars blaring and the bass desperately trying to be heard through the substandard software.

One song finished, and the next began. Stiles heard the all-too-familiar voice, low and soulful, and for a second it was impossible not to remember how that voice had sounded moaning underneath Stiles, how it’d sounded when it was breathy and light and so full of _want_ -

Stiles slammed his laptop shut. He rested his head on his arms, well aware of how pathetic he was acting right now, and looked up out of his window. Puffy clouds streaked a crisp blue sky outside and Stiles stared at them, trying very hard not to think of anything else, but failing miserably. He sighed.

It had been over a month, and Derek hadn’t called. Or even _texted._

Stiles had tried hard not to be too hopeful for a message, given how their last meeting had gone, but since the dude had told Stiles his real name – presumably, at least – Stiles had hoped that meant there was the possibility of something happening again.

One week had come and passed, and Stiles had still been so happy after the concert that he hadn’t worried about it. And then another week came and went, and another, and Stiles had even checked the tour dates at one point to see if the band was still on the road, since that would have probably explained it all. But apparently their last concert had been a few nights after Sacramento, and so there was no reason for Derek to _not_ call Stiles, logically speaking.

Except Stiles knew, deep down, that the most likely explanation for it was that, simply, Derek didn’t _want_ to call. They’d both felt the awkwardness in the air during their last meeting, and even though Derek had been amazing and they’d had ridiculously good sex – which may or not have fuelled all of Stiles’ fantasies in the shower for the past month – Derek was still a famous, absurdly talented rock star, and Stiles was- well, Stiles was a nobody.

He tried not to dwell on that train of thought too long as he opened his laptop with a sigh. He quickly turned off the music that started playing, glad for the silence, and was about to start reading the article when his computer made a quiet sound, indicating an incoming Skype call. He grinned when he saw who it was.

‘Hey man,’ said Scott, smiling his usual goofy grin as soon the video feed was up. ‘How you been?

Stiles shrugged. ‘Yeah, you know, pretty good.’ There was a small silence and he cleared his throat. ‘Just trying not to think too hard, I guess,’ he finally admitted. Scott nodded in sympathy.

Even though Stiles _had_ signed a form saying that he wasn’t going to tell people, he hadn’t been able to resist telling Scott about what had happened that night – in explicit detail, of course. But, he _had_ held out for a solid ten minutes before blurting out the truth, so he was pretty proud of that fact, and he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone else. Who said Stiles Stilinski couldn’t keep a secret?

Of course, it also had to do with the fact that Scott was pretty much the only person in the world who knew Stiles liked dudes as well as women, but that was a whole other issue.

‘It’s okay, man,’ said Scott, ‘Just let me know if you want to talk, okay?’

Stiles fought back a grin. ‘I thought you didn’t want to talk about my love life?’    

Scott rolled his eyes. ‘I never said _that,_ I just wanted you to stop talking about all the other stuff …’ He trailed off pointedly.

Stiles leant closer to the screen, smirking. ‘Like how big his dick was?

‘Dude, no!’ Stiles burst out laughing at Scott’s horrified expression. At least joking about it helped ease the faint twinges in his chest.

‘Seriously man, you can’t say shit like that,’ Scott said, and it took a second for Stiles to get his breath back to answer.

‘Well, it’s true,’ he said, grinning, ‘you wouldn’t believe how good his _ass_ was either-‘

Scott groaned, covering his face. ‘Please, for the love of god, I’m going to hang up-‘

‘Come on, dude, you know you love me,’ laughed Stiles, and Scott finally peeked up through his fingers, sighing.

‘I don’t even understand why I put up with your shit.’

‘Because you wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Stiles said, grinning.

Scott rolled his eyes as a smile spread across his face. He paused.

‘Just … look after yourself, Stiles, alright?’

Stiles heard the unspoken meaning behind Scott’s words. _Don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault._

Stiles smiled, a little weaker this time. ‘Thanks, Scott, I appreciate it. See you later.’

The video disappeared a second later, and Stiles was left staring at the article he’d had up before. He started reading it, and tried very hard not to think of anything else at all.    
  


☾  
  


Stiles passed the next few days like he usually did - browsing Reddit and Youtube until one in the morning, playing the new Fallout game, hanging out with Scott, doing the occasional grocery shopping, and submitting job applications even though he was pretty sure it was a lost cause at this point.

His dad had let Stiles slide since high school finished last year. With no real idea of what the hell he wanted to do in life and burnt out from his finals, Stiles had decided to take a month off doing any form of work, which had swiftly turned into three, then five, then almost nine months.

A few weeks ago Stiles’ dad had put his foot down, explaining in his usual gruff manner of _if you don’t get out of this goddamn house I’m going to shoot a hole in the wall so help me_ that Stiles either needed to go to college or get a job. Stiles had opted for trying to get a job. Not that it was really working out that well, if his mostly empty inbox was anything to go by.

Stiles had been happy coasting along and having so much free time to himself, but as the months had worn on he’d realised that there were only so many ways to occupy yourself during the day when you had no homework to finish and no job to complain about and only one really good friend to talk to (and okay, that last one was just sort of sad). Even his Tumblr blog had been mildly – okay, _completely_ – neglected ever since the concert, and that used to take up a significant portion of his time.

The simple problem was that Stiles was bored, so _bored,_ all the damn time. He’d always been easily bored – that was one of the beautiful things about having an attention disorder - but it hadn’t gotten this bad in a while. No amount of Adderall or exercise or late-night talks with his best friend seemed to help it either, and a small niggling part of Stiles knew it’d gotten even worse since his encounter with Derek. He was about to go out of his mind with ennui, and he had no idea how to fix it.

The answer came in the form of a text one Sunday morning.  
  


☾  
  


It was raining.

Stiles’ cheek was pressed against the cool glass of the window as he watched the droplets start and stop down the pane outside, book spread open across his bent knees. It was the second _Lord of the Rings_ book _,_ something he’d been meaning to read for ages, but he’d only been able to get through a few pages to realise he wouldn’t be able to focus on the words today.

He’d been too comfortable leaning sideways against the window to be bothered moving, so he resorted to looking out the glass, watching the drops of rain slide around each other in a haphazard dance. That was about when his phone buzzed once beside him, and Stiles reached around to pick it up, fully expecting to see Scott’s name on the screen. But it wasn’t.

There was a phone number he didn’t recognise, and written underneath:

_8pm tonight. Hyatt Hotel, Sacramento, room 7c._

That was all that was written, and Stiles felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion. Clearly someone had texted the wrong number, and he had just started to type out a reply when his phone buzzed again, signalling another message.

Stiles read it, eyes widening, and the next second he’d scrambled to his feet and started pelting up the stairs, almost falling over twice. He ran into his room and opened up his laptop, launching Skype and calling Scott as soon as it’d loaded, grinning widely when Scott’s face came onto the screen.

‘You would not _believe_ who just texted me,’ Stiles said, breathless.

‘I’m gonna guess Derek?’ said Scott with a smirk.

Stiles groaned. ‘Dude, it’s no fun if you actually guess it right, you know-‘

‘Wait, so I actually _am_ right? Stiles, that’s awesome!’ Scott grinned. ‘What’d he say?’

Now it was Stiles’ turn to smirk as he held up his phone, which now displayed two messages from a currently unsaved number.

The second one said: _Btw it’s Derek._

Scott actually laughed. ‘Wow, that … certainly isn’t ambiguous, is it?’

Stiles grinned. ‘Just the way I like it.’

He spent the rest of the day alternately freaking out and grinning like a lunatic. He must’ve gone out to check that his old jeep was still working half a dozen times – by the last time, his dad had clued in on that something was happening, and stopped Stiles by the front door.

‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’ he said, waving a hand towards Stiles’ car.

‘I’m just double-checking that it’s working,’ said Stiles. He tried to make his face as neutral as possible. ‘I’m meeting a couple of, uh, friends, in Sacramento later, so I want to make sure it’s running okay-‘

‘Wait, Sacramento? What on earth are you going to be doing in Sacramento?’

‘Uhh …’ Stiles tried quickly to think of something plausible that didn’t involve _probably having hot gay sex with a highly mysterious and attractive rockstar_. ‘Um, one of Scott’s friends is, uh, playing in a band.’ Good, that didn’t sound too ridiculous. ‘I thought it’d be fun to go along, and you know, appreciate the, uh … culture,’ he finished lamely.

His dad stared at him. ‘Well, okay, just don’t drink, alright?’

Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, cause I was totally planning on getting smashed and driving back home out of my mind.’

‘ _Stiles-_ ‘

‘I’ll be _fine,_ dad, you know me.’ Stiles clapped him on the shoulder as he walked back inside. ‘I swear. I’m not even going to touch a beer, alright?’

His dad sighed. ‘Okay, Stiles, just remember to drive safe-‘

‘I know, dad-‘

‘And watch out for anyone acting strangely-‘

‘I know-‘

‘And keep an eye on your friends.‘

‘ _Dad_ ,’ Stiles groaned, ‘I’ll be fine.’ Part of him felt bad for lying to his dad’s face, but the alternative was too terrifying to even consider.

‘Okay, okay,’ said his dad, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘I get it, just wanted to make sure.’

Stiles smiled. ‘I know. And now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he turned and started heading up the stairs, ‘I have to go get ready.’  
  


☾  
  


He couldn’t find the hotel.

Stiles had spent a solid hour showering and getting ready and debating over what he should take – _was it presumptuous to show up with an overnight bag? What if this wasn’t like last time? What if he didn’t even need spare clothes for the next day? What if they didn’t even wear any clothes for the whole night?_

Stiles had needed to take a cold shower after that particular train of thought.

And somehow, amidst all his preparation, he’d forgotten to actually look up directions to the place. It’d only occurred to him that he had no clue where he was going when he was coming up to the outskirts of the city, and that was why he was now parked on the side of the road, frantically trying to search for the place on his phone. Which apparently had no signal at the moment. Of course.

He let his head fall back onto the headrest and threw a glance at the time blinking on the dashboard – 7:45 pm. Well, shit, he was going to be late as well. He hoped Derek wouldn’t be too upset about that.

His dad’s words from before suddenly flashed through his head, and the way he’d implored Stiles to be safe stuck in his head.

How much did he _really_ know about Derek? Apart from the tiny pieces of trivia he’d gleaned over the years from internet forums and Tumblr, and also, apparently the fact that the guy liked having sex with men, there wasn’t a whole lot that Stiles actually knew about him.

That mystery had drawn Stiles in to begin with, had fuelled far too many late-night arguments about headcanons with other fans online, but now that he was actually meeting the dude for a second time, that mystery left a little twinge in his chest.

What if Derek wasn’t who he was cracked up to be? They’d already met once, but in all fairness it was hard to judge someone’s character when all you’d done was make out and give them a blowjob. What if he was a total dick, or didn’t share Stiles’ sense of humor, or even worse, actually liked the _Star Wars_ prequels?

Stiles shuddered. The first two were potentially manageable, but being around someone who didn’t hate Jar Jar Binks would be unbearable.

He was rescued from his thoughts when his phone gave a little jolt on his lap, signalling that he was connected and ready to search to his heart’s content. Stiles mentally praised whatever god there was and quickly googled the hotel, relieved to see that it was only a few minutes drive away.

He pulled out onto the road again, determined not to let his mind get the better of him. He didn’t know Derek, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t _get_ to know him. He’d just have to wait and see.

Besides, anyone with an ass that good had to be a half-decent person, right?  
  


☾  
  


After parking his car and walking nervously through the lobby – the place was much fancier than he had expected, but then again why wouldn’t it be if Derek was staying there – Stiles found himself on the seventh floor, outside a pale door with a polished gold _7C_ in the centre.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, wishing he’d thought to pack some mints or something. After a deep breath, he knocked.

A second later he heard muted footsteps crossing the floor inside, and then the door opened, and Derek was just as hot and tall and perfect as that night after the concert.  

‘Uh, hey,’ said Stiles, when he got his breath back.

‘Hey,’ replied Derek, lifting an eyebrow. ‘You took your time.’

Stiles’ mouth fell open. ‘Well, excuse me,’ he said, trying to inject as much sass as possible into his words, ‘but the hotel was extremely hard to find.’ _Please don’t let him realise I’m lying._

‘You’re lying,’ said Derek. _Damn._ ‘You got lost, didn’t you?’

Stiles spluttered. ‘Of course not, what’re you talking about-‘

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Just get inside.’

He opened the door further, stepping aside to make space, and Stiles walked into the room, eyes widening as he took in the view. He distantly heard the door close behind him.

There was a large window on the opposite wall that stretched almost from the floor to the ceiling, and even though they were only up seven floors, Stiles could see the city stretched out before them, all twinkling orange lights and tiny cars and even tinier people, barely visible in the fading orange light of sunset. It even looked like there was a balcony you could go out on. _I have got to do that later,_ Stiles thought absently.

The room wasn’t half-bad either; there was a cosy-looking couch next to the window, a sizeable TV on one wall, and opposite that was the bed, a huge luxurious thing with a mound of pillows and white sheets, and Stiles felt a faint flush creeping into his cheeks just at the thought of what they were going to do.

Derek had been silent as Stiles admired their surroundings, but now he slipped up from behind and slid a hand up Stiles’ side, long fingers languid against the ghost of Stiles’ ribs through his shirt. Stiles let his head fall back, brushing against Derek’s shoulder, and Derek took the cue to lean in and press his lips to the side of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles sighed breathily at the sensation. Derek’s mouth was warm and soft and when Stiles unconsciously raised a hand and passed it through Derek’s soft hair, the older man bit down just enough to make Stiles’ toes curl. A low keen rose in his throat as Derek nipped at the sensitive flesh and his hands tightened on Stiles’ sides, and in return Stiles grasped gently at Derek’s hair, combing his fingers slowly through the locks as the other man mouthed at his neck.

A thought suddenly hit him.

‘Derek, stop.‘

Derek froze. ‘What did I do?’ His voice was flat and Stiles mentally kicked himself.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s the opposite actually,’ Stiles said breathily. ‘It’s just … I’d rather not have to explain where I got a hickey from, if that makes sense.’

There was a tense pause, and then Derek made a low sound in this throat, almost a soft laugh, and leant down to brush his lips against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

‘Well then,’ he whispered, ‘I guess I’ll just have to give you a hickey somewhere people won’t see it.’

Stiles tried not to moan out loud at that. He failed miserably. The next thing he knew Derek’s hands had fallen from his sides and travelled down Stiles’ body.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat when Derek’s hand brushed over his dick through his jeans, slender fingers cupping it lightly through the material. He was almost embarrassingly hard by this point, even when Derek had done little besides kiss his neck and whisper seductively in his ear, but Stiles really couldn’t be bothered feeling awkward about it right now, especially when Derek had started rubbing him through his jeans, and then Derek’s other hand had somehow unbuttoned them without him realising and he slipped his hand underneath Stiles’ briefs and oh _god-_

Stiles’ head fell back onto Derek’s shoulder again. He could feel warm breath coasting across his cheek, and was sorely tempted to turn his head just a little more so he could cross the distance between them and kiss those perfect lips, but then Derek twisted his wrist just so and flicked a thumb over the head of Stiles’ dick.

‘I’m gonna, _hng,_ come too soon if you keep doing that,’ Stiles managed to gasp out. ‘Besides, weren’t you, _god,_ going to give me a hickey somewhere … else …’ He was way too close and would’ve been embarrassed if Derek weren’t so clearly enjoying this.

Derek hummed as if in thought, and tilted his head down to brush his lips against Stiles’ jaw, twisting his wrist to make Stiles gasp again.

And then the pressure on Stiles’ length was gone and Derek was walking across to the bed. Stiles blinked, his dick aching for the sensation of Derek’s hand already.

But then Derek pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion, and before Stiles had even adjusted to the view of Derek’s perfect muscles, he had reached down and stripped off his jeans as well, and all Stiles could do was stare.

 _It should be illegal to look that hot,_ he thought, and Derek threw an incredulous glance over his shoulder.

Stiles cringed. ‘Did I say that out loud?’  

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Get over here.’

Stiles took that as a yes and scrambled over to the bed. If Derek noticed how eager he was, he didn’t comment on it.

When Stiles started hurriedly taking off his jacket, Derek stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. Stiles’ brow furrowed as he looked up.  
Derek paused before he spoke.

‘Do it slowly.’

Stiles couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. ‘You mean, like … a striptease?’

Derek licked his lips. ‘Yeah.’

Stiles grinned. ‘Kinky. I like it.’

‘Don’t make me punch you.’

Stiles shrugged. ‘Hey, if you’re into BDSM I wouldn’t be one to judge, just let me know first if you wanna, you know, get out some whips or something.‘ _What the fuck am I saying?_ This always happened when he got nervous, he rambled on and on about something nonsensical and likely annoyed the crap out of everyone within hearing range. 

Derek snorted. ‘Not my type of thing, but I appreciate the offer.’

Stiles couldn’t hide his smirk. Seemed like the guy had a sense of humor after all.

As Derek sat down on the bed, facing him, Stiles started taking off his jacket, first slipping his arms slowly out of the sleeves, then throwing it behind him onto the ground. With his jeans undone from before and Derek gazing at him almost hungrily, Stiles felt weirdly naked. He was also suddenly aware of just how quiet it was in this little hotel room, silent except for their hushed breathing and the muted _badum_ of Stiles’ heart in his chest.

‘Do you think, you could, um, put some music on?’ he said after a second. ‘It feels kinda weird stripping in total silence.’

Derek nodded, folding his arms while he waited.

Stiles fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and loaded up iTunes. He grinned when he found the perfect song, hitting play and turning up the volume before placing the phone on the bedside table. The sound of drums filled the room.

Derek looked curiously at Stiles, his head tilted to one side as he tried to figure out what the song was, but when the main riff started he smiled and leant forward.

‘Arctic Monkeys?’

Stiles grinned and nodded, swaying his hips to the beat. ‘It’s a great song.’

Derek nodded, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bed as the vocals started.

_‘Have you got color in your cheeks?’_

Stiles moved slowly in time with the music, stepping from side to side and swaying his hips, mouthing the words and trying desperately not to make a fool of himself. He was probably really terrible at this and Derek was just being nice by letting him keep going, but when he raised a hand and swept it through his own hair, he caught a glimpse of Derek’s eyes focused on him, intense and hungry. Stiles bit his lip, and Derek’s eyes flicked down to Stiles’ mouth before moving slowly back up to Stiles’ eyes. Derek licked his lips and Stiles tried not to blush.

_‘Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways …’_

Stiles turned around and bent down, knowing that Derek was getting a perfect view of his ass at the moment, and loving every second of it. He quickly took off his shoes and socks, kicking them across the other side of the room. He cast a glance at Derek over his shoulder, silently filled with glee to see the man’s eyes roaming up and down Stiles’ body.

Stiles turned to face Derek again as the second verse started, and he gradually started inching his jeans off, eyes trained on Derek, who was focused intently on Stiles’ movements with his mouth ever so slightly open.

Derek bit his lip when they came off, eyes lingering on Stiles’ crotch, and Stiles was well aware of how well Derek could see his dick through the white briefs.

_‘Simmer down and pucker up…’_

Stiles ran his hands through his hair again, swaying his hips all the while, biting his lip. He let his hand ghost over his own stomach and his hips, fingers teasing at the band of his underwear before slipping inside. It certainly wasn’t as good as Derek, but he still knew how to please himself, that was for sure, and he let out a moan, just loud enough that Derek could hear.

When the second chorus started he pulled his hand out, abruptly aware that he was still wearing a shirt. He pulled it off slowly, throwing it to the side with his jeans, and glanced up. Derek was staring at him with such an intense expression that Stiles’ breath caught in his throat.

Stiles raised the hand he’d been stroking himself with and smirked. And then he put two fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks.

Derek’s eyes widened and Stiles sucked his fingers for a few seconds before pulling them out, accompanied by a lewd _pop,_ and he cupped the front of his underwear, teasing the head of his own dick with his thumb through the fabric.

As the song built to a climax Stiles walked forward until he was standing between Derek’s open legs. Derek looked up at him, the pupils of his eyes blown wide, lips pink and moist, and the song finished.

It was silent. Derek wound a hand around Stiles’ back, the other riding up Stiles’ bare side until he found the back of his neck, and then Stiles was being pulled down and their lips finally pressed together.

The kiss was slow and hot and Stiles felt himself melting into Derek’s arms. There was none of the urgent feeling that had fuelled their last encounter, and Derek’s lips moved leisurely against Stiles’ own, light stubble scratching his jaw, while Stiles rested his arms on Derek’s shoulders, fingers ghosting over the lean muscle.

They stayed like that for how long he didn’t know, Stiles memorising the line of Derek’s body with his hands, Derek’s hands carding through Stiles’ hair and up the smooth skin of his back, and their lips sliding together again and again, until both their mouths were red and swollen.

‘About that hickey …’ Stiles finally said during one pause for breath, and he felt Derek smile against his jaw. The other man hummed, and the next thing Stiles knew he was on his back on the bed, having been flipped around with ease by Derek.

‘Holy shit.’

Derek smirked up at him, eyes intense behind a thick row of eyelashes, and wow, Stiles could definitely get used to seeing that on a regular basis.

Derek slid his hands over Stiles’ chest and stomach, fingers teasing at the dark hairs leading down underneath his underwear. Stiles shivered at the touch.

Derek moved back until he was kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs, fingers ghosting over Stiles’ thighs, and suddenly Stiles felt so very vulnerable and naked, and his throat was dry and he couldn’t breathe and _oh shit_ Derek must’ve caught the sudden tension in his body because he paused and leant back on his heels.

‘Are you okay? We don’t have to-‘

‘No,’ said Stiles too quickly, because he _did_ want this, holy shit did he want this, it was all just going so fast. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. 

‘I want to,' he murmured, and he really did. He pushed himself up and kissed Derek again, letting his hand linger on Derek’s jaw.

Derek kissed down Stiles’ neck as he lay back down again, slower than before, mouth trailing over Stiles’ chest and stomach and down to his underwear, lips pressing gently against flushed skin.

But instead of pulling off the briefs like Stiles was expecting, Derek moved lower, down to Stiles’ thighs. He slipped a hand under one knee and tilted it to the side, exposing the sensitive flesh underneath.

Derek glanced up at Stiles, his eyes questioning, and Stiles knew what he was asking. After a second he nodded, just slightly, eyes trained on Derek’s, and then Derek’s mouth was on the underside of his leg, lips warm against the cool skin, and then he _nipped_ at the flesh and Stiles’ head fell back onto the pillow with a low moan.

Derek bit not quite hard enough to break the skin, but enough to send deep shivers down Stiles’ spine. He took quick breaks to just lick the spot, his tongue slow and wet and warm, nursing the bruised skin, and soon Stiles was a quivering mess beneath his hands. And just when he didn’t think he could handle anymore, dick hard and leaking and fucking begging to be touched, Derek slid his free hand up and started rubbing Stiles through his underwear.

It could have been five minutes or five seconds later, he was so lost on a wave of bliss he couldn’t tell, but Stiles came with a choked gasp, back arching off the bed.

Faintly he registered Derek shifting up and lying next to him, but it was a few minutes before Stiles could find the breath to move again. He pressed kisses down Derek’s chest and pulled down his briefs, wrapping his mouth around Derek’s length.

It wasn’t long before Derek came with a low grunt, hands buried in Stiles’ hair, and Stiles wiped his mouth with a grin, flopping back onto the pillows. He could already feel the post-orgasm fatigue threatening to pull him under, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stay here tonight.

‘Do you mind if I sleep here?’ he said quietly, muffling a yawn.

Derek paused. ‘No.’ His voice was unusually quiet, but Stiles was too content and tired to think anything of it.

‘Awesome,’ said Stiles, stretching out on the bed, distantly aware that the come inside his underwear had dried and was now sticking to his skin. _That’ll be a joy to clean up tomorrow._ He reached for the bedside table and fired off a quick text to his dad, explaining he’d be spending the night but avoiding any of the details.

Stiles flopped back onto the bed, eyes fluttering closed. Derek shuffled beside him, and the next thing Stiles knew there were blankets covering his body. He sighed contentedly, burrowing into the fuzzy warmth.

‘Goodnight,’ he muttered, as slumber started to overtake him.

‘Night,’ he heard Derek say.

The last thing Stiles was aware of before he drifted off were soft lips pressing against his forehead, stubble tickling his skin. They lingered, almost hesitant, and Derek’s breath was shallow and warm again Stiles' cheek when he pulled away. Stiles thought to mention it, but a second later he was fast asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Derek was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song [I Am Bored](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E908d14CTCQ) by The Microphones. 
> 
> The Arctic Monkeys song used during the striptease scene, in case you didn't guess, is [Do I Wanna Know?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM), which is also the namesake for this fic!


	3. Make The Moves Up As I Go

‘Wait, so Derek was gone?’

Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘Yes dude, I literally _just_ said that.’

‘But … so, that was seriously it?’ Scott frowned. ‘Man, that sucks.’

‘That wasn’t all,’ said Stiles.  He paused for dramatic effect, a slight smile tilting the corner of his mouth.

‘Derek left me a note.’

Scott leant forward with wide eyes. ‘What’d it say?’

Stiles lifted a pale piece of paper, crumpled from being in his pocket. He cleared his throat.

‘ _I had to go to a meeting with my manager,_ ’ he began, _‘the bill’s already been paid and checkout’s at noon – just tell them what room you’re checking out of and it’ll be fine. Would enjoy doing this again sometime. - D.’_

Stiles was grinning by the time he finished.

‘That’s it?’ said Scott after a moment’s silence.

‘What do you mean “ _that’s it_ ”?’ said Stiles incredulously. ‘That’s practically _begging_ when it comes to Derek. He’s not exactly known for overt displays of emotion.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes, really … Scott, why are you making that face?’

Stiles squinted at the computer screen as Scott looked like he was trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

‘No reason,’ he finally said, smirking. ‘I just find it funny how you know the guy so well after only meeting him all of, what, two times?’

Stiles snorted. ‘Yeah, well …’ He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. ‘It’s pretty stupid, but I feel like I’ve known Derek for ages,’ he said at last. ‘You know how you just sort of, I dunno, connect with somebody even if you don’t know them that well?’

Scott nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. ‘Like me and Allison.’

‘Yeah, exactly.’ Stiles shifted in his seat, grinning. ‘You and Allison are a perfect example. You didn’t even have to talk to her to know she was special, you just knew.’

‘Yeah …’ said Scott, eyes glazing over and a goofy smile spreading across his face. Stiles gave him a few seconds to daydream about Allison before he cleared his throat and Scott snapped back to reality. His brow furrowed.

‘You really like Derek, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Stiles immediately. ‘I think. But not-‘ he looked down, ‘-not in that way.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not like he’d ever feel the same way, right? Far as I know, I might not be the only person he does this stuff with.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up like that,’ warned Scott, and something in his tone made Stiles glance up at the computer screen.

‘You’re a good guy, Stiles. And you deserve a good guy. Just make sure Derek _is_ one before you get too involved with him.’

Stiles was suddenly very glad to have a friend like Scott. He cracked a grin and muttered a quiet thanks, but didn’t mention the soft twinge in his chest that murmured, _what if I’m already too involved?_  

He was about to say something else when he heard footsteps clumping on the stairs, and he spun around in his chair.

‘Hey, Stiles,’ said his dad, walking hesitantly in and sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘Mind if we talk for a minute?’

_Oh shit,_ thought Stiles, _that doesn’t sound good._ Tamping down the anxiety for the moment, he swivelled to face his open laptop, where Scott’s face was displayed on the screen.

‘I’ll talk to you later, okay?’ he said, hoping Scott would get the hidden meaning in his words.

‘Sure, man,’ said Scott, trying to act casual. ‘Later.’

Stiles closed his laptop screen and turned to look at his dad with what he hoped was a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to talk?’

The bed squeaked as the sheriff moved around for a second, and then he cleared his throat and looked awkwardly at Stiles.

‘I’m going to get right to the point.’

_Shit._

‘Ever since you came back from Sacramento a few nights ago-‘

_Shit shit shit._

‘-I’ve noticed that you’re much more, how should I say this …’ He paused for a moment. ‘Happy, I guess.’

_Huh?_

‘Not that you’re not happy most of the time, of course,’ his dad backpedalled, mistaking the surprise on Stiles’ face for something else, ‘but I have noticed that the past few months haven’t been that easy on you, what with finding a job and everything.’

‘Not to be rude or anything, but where are you going with this?’

‘What happened in Sacramento, Stiles?’

_Shit._

‘Nothing,’ Stiles lied smoothly. ‘It was just a really good gig and I had a fun time with Scott.’

‘Stiles,’ his dad said, ‘I’m not the sheriff of this town for no good reason. I know when you’re lying to me. And I know you stayed the night there.’

_Goddamnit._

Stiles shifted in his seat. _Now to think of a convincing lie – became part of the band? found fifty dollars? got a celebrity’s autograph?_

‘Don’t try to tell me you found money again, Stiles.’

‘And what if I did?’ said Stiles airily. ‘I might’ve done and you wouldn’t even believe me, my own father-‘

‘ _Stiles.’_

‘Fine.’ The conversation with Scott had left him feeling not exactly _emotional_ but something close, with all its talk of Derek and _feelings_ and that was probably why he decided it’d be a good idea to blurt out the truth.

‘I met someone.’ The instant the words left his mouth he regretted them, and the silence in the room stretched on for a few tense seconds.

‘I assume, by someone, you mean …’, his dad waved a hand as if to prompt Stiles, ‘a, uh, girl?’

And that was it, really. This was his choice. He could either lie and say ‘ _yeah dad, of course it was a girl and she’s really sweet, you just have to meet her,’_ and his dad would smile in relief and leave after an awkward comment about dating and nothing would change between them.

But he could also tell him the truth. He could start with ‘ _uh, dad, actually I did meet someone but it wasn’t a girl’_ and go from there, tell him who he really was. Stiles knew exactly how _that_ would go down, however, god knows he’d played out the scenario enough times in his head and read enough coming-out horror stories online. There would be surprise, questions like _‘so you’re gay?’_ and ‘ _are you sure it isn’t a phase?’_ and then there would be awkwardness, a subtle divide between them for the next few days or weeks or even years. Eventually, Stiles hoped, there would be acceptance, but until then it would be disappointed glances shared over dinner and uncomfortable handshakes with the boys Stiles would bring home, and relieved smiles to the occasional girl - that was how it would turn out, he was sure, but at the same time he was nineteen and legally an adult and he just couldn’t keep living like this, half in secrecy-

‘Stiles, you okay?’ His dad’s concerned voice snapped him back to reality.

_No,_ he thought.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ is what he said instead.

He paused for a split-second, ready to spill the truth.

‘It was a girl,’ he finally said, ignoring how the lie felt bitter on his tongue. ‘Her name’s, uh, Deana.’ _Close enough._

‘She nice?’

Stiles huffed. ‘Not exactly.’ Memories of Derek’s gruffness and sarcasm crossed his mind. ‘But I think she’s nicer than she lets on. She’s interesting, though. Really interesting.’ That was as close to the truth as he could get.

‘Well, that’s great, Stiles, it’s about time you actually started dating.’

‘I could say the same thing about you.’

His dad huffed and shifted to his feet. ‘I think this conversation is over.’

As his dad walked out of the room, Stiles turned back to his computer and called out, ‘So, how is Melissa doing?’

‘Shut it, Stiles.’

He smirked and was about to turn his computer on when his phone vibrated on the desk. His heart leapt when he saw it was a text from Derek.

_7pm tonight, same place?_

He couldn’t stop smiling as he texted back.

_Definitely_

He set it down on the desk and opened up his laptop, bouncing his knee in anticipation of the night ahead. A few minutes later the phone buzzed again. Stiles picked it up, brow furrowing as he read the message.

_This is gonna sound really bad_ ...

_What? Is something wrong?_

_Not exactly …_

Stiles frowned. It was a good five minutes before his phone buzzed again.

_I sort of don’t know your name._

Oh. The words only served to remind him of how little they truly knew each other, but then again, had he ever introduced himself to Derek? He couldn’t really blame the guy, and the fact that he actually wanted to know Stiles’ name now, after actually knowing him was, well … Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

_It’s fine,_ he texted back, _My name’s Stiles. And no, that’s not a typo._ He decided against adding a winky face emoji before sending it.

_You sure that’s not a typo?_ was the reply.

Stiles laughed. _Yeah I know it’s a ridiculous name, haha_

_It is pretty weird … but I think it suits you._

That message sent a thrill down Stiles’ spine and his fingers trembled slightly as he messaged back.

_See you tonight ;)_

He was still holding his phone, smiling at their conversation, when Derek sent another message.

_See you then, Stiles._

A grin broke across his face, and stayed there as he stood up and started getting ready.  
 

☾

It was two weeks later when Stiles heard him the first time.

Two weeks since they’d started making this a semi-regular thing, and two weeks since the third time they’d had sex (although on that night it’d turned out that Derek was exhausted, and they’d only lasted a couple of messy blowjobs before Derek had fallen asleep on the bed and Stiles had faced a long, solitary drive home. Still, Derek grunting out Stiles’ name for the first time during sex had been pretty damn great).  

It’d been two glorious weeks of blowjobs and sarcasm and hungry kisses and Stiles couldn’t remember a time he’d ever felt so content.

His dad seemed to be weirdly okay with Stiles driving over an hour to Sacramento every few days, but then again he still thought that Stiles was driving to see a girl. If he knew it was a guy, Stiles knew his reaction would be different, but for now he was relatively content to let things go and lie through his teeth whenever the sheriff asked about the mythical Deana, because it meant he could go see Derek whenever he wanted. And he was pretty damn grateful for that.

So here he was, two weeks later, standing in the empty hallway of the hotel room, hand raised to knock, when he heard it: the unmistakeable, muffled sound of someone singing. And not just anyone.

‘Derek?’ He knocked, and the music stopped. Footsteps padded to the door and it swung open.

‘Hey, Stiles,’ said Derek. He stood to one side to let him in. ‘I was wondering where you were.’

Stiles grinned when he saw what looked like a ridiculously expensive guitar leaning against the bed. ‘Sounds like you were busy enough on your own.’

When Derek didn’t speak he turned his head and was surprised to see a faint flush creeping up the man’s face.

‘I …’ said Derek, closing the door and running a hand awkwardly through his hair. ‘It’s just a little something I’ve been working on.’

‘A little something?’ said Stiles. He paused and toed at the carpet, suddenly feeling brave. ‘Could you, uh, show me?’

‘I don’t know, Stiles, it’s really rough at the moment …’

Stiles snorted and looked up at Derek. ‘Seriously though, knowing you and your music, it’s probably a hell of a lot better than you think.’

Derek frowned. ‘I don’t think I’m quite the musical genius you think I am, but fine.’ He strolled to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, picking up the guitar and resting it across his leg, fingers light on the fret board. Stiles sat down next to him, mouth suddenly dry.

The room filled with quiet music, notes plucked with nimble fingers blending together into a beautiful melody that raised little goosebumps on Stiles’ arms.

_‘In the light of dawn …_ ’

Derek began to sing, and if Stiles had thought he was in heaven before, it was nothing compared to the sound of Derek’s baritone barely a foot away amidst the sweet strains of an acoustic guitar filling the small hotel room.

‘ _I felt your breath …_ ’

Derek’s fingers moved like water on the guitar, flowing here and there, contorting into complex shapes and moving up and down the frets, utterly mesmerising to watch.

_‘And when you slept …’_

Stiles felt his eyes drawn to Derek’s face; his brow furrowed with concentration, biting his lip when he wasn’t singing, eyes cast downwards to the guitar but still, burning with a quiet fire, with a passion that moved forward from his lips and ran like electricity through the words he murmured. Something tugged gently in Stiles’ chest.

_‘Midnight is a place …’_

And then all Stiles could think as he looked at Derek was, _Scott was right._

The song finished suddenly and Derek looked at Stiles expectantly. He must’ve taken too long to answer because Derek cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘Really, that bad?’

Stiles huffed out a laugh that sounded weak to his ears and smiled. ‘No …’ He paused, trying to search for the words that would describe just how great it had been. _Amazing? Beautiful?_ ‘It was actually kind of perfect. You’re way too talented for your own good, you know that, right?’

Derek rolled his eyes but Stiles could see a smile tugging at his lips. ‘And you’re too much of a smartass for your own good, you know that?’ He set the guitar against the bed and shifted closer to Stiles.

‘So this was your plan all along, huh?’ murmured Stiles when they were close enough that he could feel Derek’s warm breath fanning across his cheek. He smirked and looked up at the older man, eyes gliding over day-old stubble and soft pink lips. ‘Serenade me and in return I give you a blowjob?’

Derek just chuckled, low, before leaning in to mouth at Stiles’ neck, and Stiles thought he had never heard something quite so beautiful.  
  


☾  
  


Later, when the city lights outside the hotel room window had switched on and illuminated the room with oranges and reds and pale blues, and their bodies were slick and warm amidst tangled sheets, Stiles felt brave enough to ask something that’d been on his mind for a while.

‘I’ve been wondering …’

Derek hummed, waiting for him to continue. Stiles took a deep breath.

‘Are you gay, or bisexual, or …?’

Derek paused. ‘Bisexual. Does that bother you?’

Stiles shook his head. ‘I’m bi as well. I was just wondering.’ He shifted onto his back and stared at the ceiling.  ‘Are you out to anyone?’

‘The band knows,’ said Derek quietly. ‘And my sister.’

‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ said Stiles, tilting his head to look at Derek.

‘Her name’s Laura,’ he said. ‘She’s kind of a huge pain, but I love her anyway.’ He turned his head to fix a glare at Stiles. ‘Please don’t tell her I said that.’

Stiles grinned. ‘How did they react?’

‘The band was fine with it, Laura already knew.’

‘How?’

Derek smiled slightly. ‘Freshman year. One of my first songs was about a guy in my class, and she heard me singing it in my room one day after school.’

Stiles snorted. The idea of an adolescent Derek singing love songs was far too cute to dwell on.

‘Are you out to anybody?’ said Derek after a moment.

Stiles sighed. ‘Just a couple of close friends. The stupid thing is I really _want_ to come out, it’s just … hard.’  
Derek nodded in understanding and they drifted into amiable silence, the lights outside throwing soft colour across their bare chests, and Derek’s warmth lulling Stiles into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter came from the song 'Shake It Off' by Taylor Swift (cause why not?) and I felt like it really fit Stiles' head space during this chapter. 
> 
> Just saying, the smuttiness is probably gonna take up a smaller part of the story from now on in lieu of actual plot and character development. Also, the chapters are gonna be quite a bit shorter, cause otherwise I'd never update this thing, and I really want to update as frequently as possible. 
> 
> Next chapter will involve a switch of viewpoint to Derek, plus Laura will get a proper introduction! Yay~


	4. A Day In The Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank everyone for all the kudos and wonderful comments you've left so far, every single one seriously makes my day. Hope y'all enjoy some Derek POV :)

Derek liked to think he had some good qualities.

Writing music seemed to be one thing people singled out, although his inner critic would object violently to that. Laura would say he was compassionate or kind or something equally embarrassing, although she’d also admit that he was only like that when he’d warmed up to people (and that was rare), or when it suited him (which was equally rare). He was reasonably intelligent (or at least he hoped), and he’d spent enough years working out or being lectured into dieting by his manager that he was confident with his appearance (though he couldn’t understand why people acted like he was the most attractive fucking guy on the planet when he clearly wasn’t).

Out of all his good qualities, however, one thing was clear - patience wasn’t one of them.

Which is why, when Laura sat down next to him on the couch in his apartment one Sunday morning, he sighed loudly without lifting his eyes from the book he had splayed across his knees.

‘You better not be about to talk about what I think you’re going to talk about,’ he said.

‘Whatever could you mean, brother dear?’ she said. He could _hear_ the damn smirk in her voice. ‘Surely you don’t mean a certain special somebody?’

‘Laura …’ he warned.

‘Stiles, for example?’

‘Goddamnit, Laura,’ he said, snapping the book shut. ‘Can you step off for one second?’

‘Hey, I’m not the one sleeping with the guy.’

‘Exactly.’ He opened the book again and tried to find his page. ‘So it’s none of your business.’

‘Your business is my business, Derek,’ she said, softer this time. ‘We look after each other, that’s what families do. You know I’m just trying to help.’

‘You can help by not quizzing me about him every five minutes.’

‘So what if I’m curious about my brother’s love life?’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘You haven’t even told me what happened yesterday.’

Derek felt his jaw clench reflexively. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘Bullshit,’ she said, and moved off the couch. She was halfway to the kitchen when Derek finally relinquished.

‘I played him a song.’

He heard her pause, then footsteps crossed wooden floorboards, and the couch sunk beside him. He kept his eyes trained on the book, not reading the words but unable to reach his sister’s eyes at the moment.

‘And?’

‘And the usual after that,’ he muttered. Like hell he was going to tell her what had happened after he finished playing the song, the way Stiles had looked at him with those stupid puppy-dog eyes and said it was perfect, and how ridiculously, bizarrely happy that had made Derek feel.

Derek still wasn’t sure how to feel about that - so he did what he’d always done and mentally pushed the emotion down, until the only hint that it was there at all was a faint murmur in his gut.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, turning a page as Laura sank back into the couch pillows.

‘But you never play for anyone except me.’

‘Well, Stiles isn’t just anyone.’

She huffed. ‘Obviously. What’s the song?’

‘It’s untitled at the moment, I’ve only done the basic chord structure and the lyrics for the first verse and chorus.’

‘Can I hear it?’

Derek internally sighed – he should’ve known the conversation would lead to this, and Laura never took no for an answer.

He set down the book on the coffee table and stood up to grab his guitar from the corner of the living room. Sitting down on the couch, he checked the tuning for a few seconds while Laura sat quietly in anticipation.

For a horrible moment he thought he’d forgotten the words, but when he started playing the chord pattern he’d come up with a few days ago, they fell back into his mind and he drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth.

_‘In the light of dawn …’_

Laura was quiet for the most part as he sang, although he saw her nodding her head a few times, which usually meant she liked it. His fingers moved deftly over the strings, adding an extra note there, holding a suspension here for a beat longer – song writing was a lot like exploring, he’d always thought, and the best kind of exploration usually happened when he was showing Laura things and had a soundboard to bounce ideas off of, someone he could actually trust to give an honest opinion. Although he’d never tell her that, of course. She’d gloat about it for all eternity.

When he strummed the last chord and the room returned to silence, Laura had an odd expression on her face.

‘You didn’t like it?’ he said, nervousness stirring in his stomach.

‘No, of course not, I loved it,’ she said, smiling faintly. She paused. ‘What’s the song about?’

‘I don’t know, honestly,’ said Derek, ‘I just sort of had this idea of love, I guess, and new beginnings, and …’ He trailed off at the expression on her face. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ she said after a moment. ‘Really, it’s nothing. It’s a beautiful song, Derek,’ she said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. ‘You should be proud.’

He was left dumbfounded on the couch as she stood up and went to the kitchen. For the rest of the day he couldn’t shake the feeling that something must’ve happened to make her act like that – but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

☾

He couldn’t sleep.

Derek had fought with his brain for the past hour, and he fought for a few minutes more, trying to slow his breath, relax his muscles, will himself into falling asleep, but nothing worked, and eventually he relented, threw aside the warm sheets, and rolled up to sit on the side of bed. The floorboards were cool against his feet, moonlight streaming in through the window and painting his bare chest a ghostly blue.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation he’d had with Stiles.

It’d been good, as far as coming-outs went (although was it even technically a coming-out if he’d already shown Stiles he liked guys?), and it’d been nice to know that Stiles trusted him enough to officially come out as bi as well.

Last night had been so simple; the words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and he had felt as natural saying _bisexual_ as he felt singing, or even breathing. It was so easy coming out to Stiles, and god knows he wanted to come out to everyone, to let it not be a secret that kept him up at nights, to be able to date whoever the hell he wanted without gender being an issue, to let the world know who he really _was-_

And he couldn’t. And there was his problem.

Derek had always been a private person and hated being the centre of attention, and when the band had begun to gain in popularity several years ago, they’d mutually agreed to wear wolf masks during concerts and press releases and only go by the initials of their first names, in order to keep their private lives hidden from the media. The situation had suited Derek well – he’d enjoyed a level of privacy that few other musicians like him had. He’d never had to worry about being photographed out in public, was able to do stuff like go to gay bars and attend other concerts and go on holidays with with Laura and hell, even do something as simple as grocery shopping, without being mauled by paparazzi or obsessed fans.

That had all changed a year ago.

Somehow, someone had found out where they were staying during a sold-out concert in Paris, tracked them from the hotel room to a secluded beach, and taken photos of them as they lazed around on the sand.

And overnight, Derek had gone from being a mysterious, masked man, to having his face splashed across the internet and the media for all to see. The fallout had been awful; he’d had to move out of New York, because so many people recognised him now, and had settled for coming back to his tiny hometown of Beacon Hills, where Full Moon Trigger weren’t anywhere near as popular. Paparazzi never came here, because there was rarely anyone interesting, and Derek had managed to get by fairly well for the past few months, with only a few quiet encounters with fans every now and then on the street - those he could deal with just fine.

The thing he couldn’t deal with, now, was how secretive he had to be about his sex life. Before, he’d been able to go out to a gay bar and get a guy with no problems, no awkwardness about Derek being famous, no secretiveness about his real name in case someone found out where he lived, just two men in a dark nightclub with no worries in the world. Now, he’d been reduced to backstage blowjobs and private escorts and goddamn _non-disclosure forms_ (that had been Peter’s idea of course, the bastard, because he would’ve known Derek hated the whole idea of it, but Derek had to admit it was probably one of the few things that completely protected his identity).

Peter, he abruptly remembered, was coming to his apartment tomorrow for an informal meeting. Which meant he needed to sleep, if he wanted to face his uncle/manager/publicist/worst enemy with any sense of civility. Laura had admonished Derek enough times for arguing with the man – although secretly, she couldn’t stand the guy either.

Derek sighed and lay back down, the sheets cool against his skin. He wanted to come out, he really did, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Maybe one day he’d be strong enough, when he could go on dates in public, talk about who he liked, stand proud with someone like St-

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed down the heaviness in his chest until there was only a faint murmur in his gut, and before long, he fell into a restless sleep.

☾

Early the next morning he shuffled into the kitchen, only to see a familiar shape leaning against the counter.

‘Derek,’ the man said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, ‘It’s been too long.’ The faux-friendliness in his voice made Derek irrationally want to punch him in the face.

‘Not long enough, Peter,’ he replied tightly, opening a cupboard to get the instant coffee.

Peter threw back his head and laughed, and Derek thought idly about jabbing him in the throat as he fished out a cup from the dishwasher. If he angled his fingers just so and aimed for the fleshy spot at the base of Peter’s neck …

‘Be nice to each other,’ said Laura as she walked into the kitchen, as if she could read Derek’s thoughts. She sidled past Derek and turned on the kettle.

‘Pleasure to see you too,’ said Peter, slinking over to the kitchen table and sitting down. ‘Once you’ve made your coffee, I’d like to have a small discussion.’

Laura flashed Derek a worried glance once Peter’s back was turned, but Derek said nothing, lips pressed tightly together. He ignored the nervousness in his gut that whispered _something’s wrong._

When he’d made his coffee he sat down opposite Peter, cradling the warm cup in his hands. Steam rose between them.

‘So,’ said Derek, after a beat of silence, ‘Why are you here?’

‘No pleasantries?’ Peter raised an eyebrow. ‘No small talk or even a “Hi Peter, what’ve you been doing the past three months”?’

Derek glared. Peter sighed.

‘Fine, we’ll get down to business.’ He leaned down to pull his laptop out of a satchel Derek hadn’t even realised was there. ‘I’m here as your publicist and your manager, because we have a slight problem.’

Derek felt a cold bead of sweat run down his spine as Peter turned the computer to face Derek, a blurry photo on the screen.

‘Is it, or is it not true, that you have spent several nights in the past two weeks in a hotel in Sacramento?’

‘I have.’

‘And I’m guessing you weren’t alone?’

Derek swallowed. His mouth was dry. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘Right. Just so we’re clear.’ Peter sighed, but Derek couldn’t stop staring at the pixelated photo of himself leaving a hotel, hair messy like someone had been running their fingers through it, his clothes heavily crumpled, but undeniably him.

‘This photo only went up on TMZ yesterday morning, but the internet’s already buzzing with rumours. As you can understand,’ said Peter, closing the laptop, ‘everybody’s very interested in why the lead singer of Full Moon Trigger is leaving a hotel in the middle of the night with sex hair and messy clothes. Thankfully, there weren’t any photos of whoever you were fucking,’ – Derek opened his mouth to speak but Peter went on – ‘but you know how the media are and once there’s a rumour, there’s no telling what lengths they’ll go to for a good scandal.’

Derek felt winded, like he’d just been punched in the gut. ‘And your point is?’

‘My point is,’ said Peter, leaning forward, ‘you need to be more careful. People actually know what you look like now, ever since those damn beach photos in France, and you can’t keep parading around fucking boys and girls left and right-‘

‘Don’t talk like that,’ snarled Derek. He clenched his fingers around the coffee cup. ‘You know it’s not like that.’

‘I know the last thing we need is for you to be caught up in some sort of gay sex scandal. And I’m saying that as your manager, and your uncle.’

Derek was silent for a moment. Then, as Peter stood up and packed his laptop away, Derek spoke very quietly.

‘Bisexual.’

Peter’s head snapped up. ‘What?’

‘I’m not gay,’ said Derek, feeling a little braver. ‘I’m bisexual.’

Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever. The point is,’ he slung the satchel over his shoulder, ‘don’t be so damn obvious, no matter who you’re screwing.’

After he left, Derek sat at the kitchen table for a long time, the coffee cup growing cold in his hands. It didn’t matter anyway; he’d lost his appetite.

Laura came in a little while later, footsteps padding quietly to stand behind him. Derek couldn’t bring himself to look in her eyes, and suddenly he was furious at Peter, furious at the world for prying into his business, but most of all angry at himself for slipping up so badly, for almost letting the world see who he really was, and the fact that he was so scared of coming out made him even angrier.

Laura rested a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘It’s okay to be angry,’ she said, ‘Peter’s an asshole.’

Derek shook his head. ‘It’s not that …’ he trailed off. ‘Well, actually, it _is_ that, but I’m also just-‘ He frowned. ‘I’m just sick of not being open about all this.’ He didn’t have to specify what _this_ meant. Laura sat down opposite him.

‘You can come out whenever you’re ready, Derek, you know that, right?’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter what the media think.’

‘Peter says it’d affect the band, affect the sales-‘

‘Fuck Peter,’ she said lightly, and Derek raised an eyebrow because she rarely swore. ‘Loads of musicians have come out as bisexual. And for a lot of them, it didn’t affect their careers at all - just look at Lady Gaga, Ani DiFranco, Azealia Banks -‘

‘They were all women, Laura.’

‘And?’

He huffed. ‘There’s a slight difference between a woman coming out a bisexual and the lead male singer of an alternative rock band doing it.’

‘Billie Joe Armstrong did it in the nineties,’ she pointed out, ‘and Green Day were still wildly popular after that.’

Derek frowned, standing up. ‘We’re not talking about this anymore.’

Laura groaned. ‘Look, just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?’

‘No promises,’ he said as he poured his cup of cold coffee down the sink and walking quickly to his room. The excess energy and anger from his conversation with Peter was still buzzing in his veins, and Laura’s words were only making it worse. He changed quickly, toeing on his running shoes and grabbing his iPod off the nightstand. He said a terse goodbye to Laura as he walked out the door of his apartment, ignoring her voice trailing after him.

The sound of The Beatles accompanied his morning jog through Beacon Hills, as he quickly moved out of the city area and into the suburbs, and it was only when Sgt. Pepper's was almost finished that he finally stopped, the buzzing anger all but gone completely from his limbs. Now, there was just heaviness, a dull ache in his chest that wasn’t entirely from the jog.

Laura made it sound so  _easy,_ like all he had to was just come out and everyone would be fine with it. But there would be more to it than that. There would be meetings with his record label, endless arguments with the executives and managers who looked after the band, people who would be worried about the effect it would have on the band and their image - and that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, because what about the public? Derek had faced enough homophobic assholes in his day, but he couldn't imagine something like that on such a large scale. He'd never admit it, but deep down the idea of coming out to so many people scared the shit out of him. And that was what Laura didn't understand.

Derek took a deep breath and turned around to start the long journey back home, but there was someone there on the pavement behind him, and they almost bumped together. He stepped back just in time and saw who it was with a jolt that went all the way down his spine and into the soles of his feet.

‘Derek?’ said a familiar voice, and a crooked grin spread slowly across the other man's face.

It was Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter came from [A Day In The Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usNsCeOV4GM) by The Beatles.


	5. Then We'd Be Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I finally updated~~ 
> 
> At the risk of getting personal, I got the worst writer's block I've ever had for the past month or so, to the point where I briefly considered abandoning this fic forever, and even giving up writing in general. But I guess I'm just damn too stubborn ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. 
> 
> Things are gonna get much more plot-oriented (and a little bit angsty) from here on in, so buckle up and enjoy the ride :)

This was not how Stiles had pictured his day going.

He’d been violently woken up at the crack of dawn by his dad’s phone alarm blaring The Beach Boys at full volume (he’d had the new iPhone for a week and still hadn’t figured out to set the volume properly, even though Stiles had sat down and painstakingly gone through every setting on the damned thing).

Stiles had tried to get back to sleep but his mind had been hectic. That was nothing new, so after what had felt like an hour of tossing and turning he’d reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and thrown on some sweatpants, deciding to turn his shitty morning into a productive one. His dad was always telling him to get out of the house and go for a walk, anyway.

He hadn’t seen Derek until he was almost next to the guy. In fact, they probably would’ve walked right into each other if Derek hadn’t spun around and then jumped back when he realised someone was there. Stiles had been sure the surprise on Derek’s face was a mirror of his own.

‘Derek?’

Derek blinked, taking out his headphones. ‘Stiles? What are you doing here?’

‘Probably the same thing you’re doing,’ Stiles retorted.

‘Oh,’ said Derek. ‘Is this where you live?’

‘What, on this sidewalk?’ said Stiles, grinning slowly. ‘No, it’s a bit uncomfortable, what with all the concrete and rain and people walking by and everything.’

Derek gave him a pointed glare. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

Stiles laughed. ‘I know. I’m just teasing.’

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I hate to stop your clearly _incredible_ display of humor, but I think it’s going to rain.’

Stiles looked up at the sky. What had been clear blue only minutes before was quickly growing dark, black clouds moving towards them from the horizon.

‘You don’t say,’ murmured Stiles. He looked at Derek. ‘Which way are you going?’ He hoped Derek wouldn’t object to Stiles clearly wanting to walk with him, but thankfully he didn’t mention it.

‘I’m going that way,’ said Derek, pointing back where Stiles had come from, ‘I’m getting a coffee from a café near the middle of town.’

He starting walking past Stiles, but paused to lean close and whisper in his ear. ‘You can join me, if you want.’

That was all the invitation Stiles had needed.

Which is why he was now seated in a cosy little coffee shop in the really nice part of town – the sort of place where Stiles would never set foot normally unless he somehow had a _lot_ of extra money to blow on six-dollar chai lattes and pastries that cost more than most quality restaurant meals he’d had – and wearing only his sweatpants and a baggy shirt, with Derek sitting across from him, elbows resting on the small table and looking immaculate without even trying.

Their knees brushed together underneath the table every now and then. Stiles tried not to betray just how much that made his insides twirl, distracting himself by taking a sip of the cappuccino Derek had insisted on buying for him. It was perfect, of course. So ridiculously perfect, in fact, that Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if it spoiled all other coffee for him for the rest of the existence. He’d love to make this his regular spot, but he’d have to start saving money, seriously _so_ much and he didn’t even have a goddamn job yet-

Derek’s voice broke him out of his daydream.

‘-haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?’

Stiles blinked. ‘I … totally have, Derek.’

‘Then tell me what I just said.’

Stiles floundered for a moment, Derek’s frown growing deeper, before he hung his head and sighed.

‘I didn’t hear anything you just said. But in my defense,’ he raised his cup, ‘I got distracted by the amazing coffee you so _sweetly_ bought for me, my dear amigo.’

The corners of Derek’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘It is good, isn’t it?’ he said after a pause, downing the rest of his latte.

‘The best,’ said Stiles, trying not to stare too openly at Derek’s bared throat as he swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘Thanks again for buying it.’

Derek waved away his apology. ‘It’s not a problem.’

They sat in silence for a second. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly that comfortable either. Stiles suddenly realised that this was one of the first times he’d ever had a real conversation with Derek without it leading to sex, and the thought made him sad, for some reason.

Thankfully, Derek broke the quiet first.

‘You never did tell me if you lived around here …’

Stiles smirked and took a sip of his drink. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

‘I would, actually,’ said Derek, his face serious. ‘Because if you live around here, that means I don’t have to drive to Sacramento every other day.’

It took Stiles a moment to realise what those words meant. Unluckily, he realised a second after he’d taken a large gulp of coffee and ending up choking on it. He only got the liquid down after a few violent splutters, much to his embarrassment - and to Derek’s amusement apparently, if the smile tugging at his lips was anything to go by.

After he’d finally stopped choking, Stiles glowered at Derek through the tears still pricking his eyes. ‘That wasn’t fair. And my throat hurts.’

Derek pursed his lips in amusement. ‘Who said anything about fair?’

‘How could you not mention you lived in Beacon Hills? Do you have any idea how much gas money I could’ve _saved_?’

‘Why didn’t _you_ mention it?’ countered Derek.

Stiles opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.

‘Exactly,’ said Derek. ‘Let’s not blame anyone here, just focus on the important question.’

Stiles swallowed. ‘Which is?’

Derek checked over his shoulder before leaning in until his face was a hair’s breadth from Stiles’. Derek’s eyes were so perfectly blue and beautiful at this distance that Stiles knew he could wax lyrical for hours, comparing them to all the oceans and skies and sapphires and blue-coloured phenomena in the world, and it still wouldn’t do them justice.

‘The real question is,’ murmured Derek, ‘do we use your place or mine?’

‘Yours,’ breathed Stiles. ‘God, yours.’

Derek made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. ‘Now, or…?’

‘Now,’ said Stiles. ‘Or I might not be able to resist the urge to screw you on this coffee table.’

Derek swallowed audibly. ‘My place sounds good, then. More legal, at least.’

Stiles chuckled quietly and leaned away. ‘Lead the way, oh Romeo.’

 

☾

 

Stiles wasn’t sure how straight people did it (being straight, that is). Because seriously, how could any guy, when faced with the impossibly handsome, muscled perfection that was Derek, resist any of that?

Derek pulled his shirt off in a fluid motion and threw it over the back of the sofa. A second later Stiles was halfway across the room, pressing hard kisses to Derek’s neck, his jaw, trailing down his chest and leaving small red marks behind. Derek's skin was soft and warm against Stiles' tongue and there were already beads of sweat prickling in the creases of Derek's belly button, his ribs, underneath the waistband of his jeans, and Stiles spread his tongue wider to lick it, hungry for the salty taste-

The front door opened and Derek froze. Stiles stood up so quickly he felt dizzy.

‘Hey Derek, I went shopping …’ The woman trailed off as she took in their appearance, raising her eyebrows. The door clicked shut behind her, unexpectedly loud in the silence. She was vaguely familiar from something Stiles couldn't quite remember.

He braced himself for the worst, which was a mix of _I’m his girlfriend_ and outright disgust. He didn’t expect her to throw her head back and laugh, setting down a brown paper bag on the kitchen bench.

‘Well,’ she said between chuckles, ‘I admit I _was_ eager to meet the famous Stiles, but I didn’t expect it to happen like this, I’ll be honest.’ She flashed a grin at Stiles and it abruptly connected for him.

‘You’re Laura,’ he said. ‘You were at the concert.’

‘What?’ Derek turned to him with a frown. ‘What concert?’

‘The first one I, uh …’ He tried to ignore the way Laura was holding back giggles. ‘The first one I met you at.’

‘Oh,’ said Derek, quiet.

‘I met him before the show,’ explained Laura. ‘He was standing there in the corner like a little lost puppy, and I couldn’t resist talking to him. That was all it was.’ She gave Derek a look that Stiles didn’t understand, and Derek turned away, picking up his shirt and sliding it back on with a grimace.

Stiles frowned and bit his lip, almost ready to ask about it, but then Laura started to pull out groceries from the paper bag and set them on the counter.

‘Now,’ she said, grinning, ‘who wants some lunch?’

Derek moved forward and joined her at the kitchen bench, helping to get food ready. Suddenly, Stiles felt very out of place, like he was intruding on what was clearly family time between two close siblings.

He cleared his throat and they both looked up simultaneously, which almost made him laugh out loud.

‘I should probably get home,’ he said, rocking back and forth on his heels. ‘Don’t wanna intrude.’

‘Don’t be silly, Stiles,’ said Laura with a wave of her hand, ‘You’re welcome to stay. We’re having nachos,’ she added with a wink.

‘Nachos?’ Stiles gasped, mouth quickly salivating. ‘Well, I guess I could stay, then …’

Laura laughed again, the sound high and clear and bright, and Stiles couldn’t help grinning in response.

After refusing his offer to help, Laura shooed him out of the kitchen, telling him to explore the apartment for a few minutes if he wanted to. He took the opportunity gladly, curious about the place where Derek lived.

Of course, the apartment was miles more fancy and expansive than Stiles would ever be able to afford – the place must’ve cost a freaking fortune.

There was the main area when you walked in the front door, which involved a big kitchen off to the side and the living room, which had a bigger TV than Stiles had seen in like, forever, an enormous, soft-looking couch, bookshelves across the opposite wall, and a guitar in the corner. _Derek’s_ guitar.

Stiles looked at it longingly, wondering what it would be like to touch the instrument, to play it and place his fingers where Derek had likely composed dozens of beautiful songs. He sighed, not the slightest bit wistful. 

Next to the kitchen there was a wide corridor lined with doors leading to other rooms, and after no one protested loudly behind him, Stiles walked down it slowly, peeking in the rooms as he went past. One was clearly Laura’s, several bright dresses strewn messily across the bed. and lipstick and flowers on the bedside cupboard. The door next to that was closed, but after tentatively opening the door he saw it was the bathroom.

On the other side of the corridor, one of the doors was locked, and the other one was wide open.

It was Derek’s room.

Stiles glanced down the corridor, but he could still hear Laura and Derek talking quietly about something. He swallowed nervously and stepped through the entrance.

Derek’s room was messy, even worse than Stiles’ room back home, and that was saying something. His bed, pressed up against the far wall, was unmade and had a few shirts strewn across it (all varying shades of black, Stiles noticed with a grin). There were guitar picks lying haphazardly on every surface in the room, and books were stacked up in piles of two or three on the floor and in the corners of the room. Stiles hadn’t even known Derek liked to read.

But the thing that really caught his eye was on the wall next to the bed.

Dozens upon dozens of papers were pinned to a massive corkboard, all with tiny scribbles on them. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as he moved closer.

They were _lyrics._

Some of them had chords written above the words, some were two or three pages long, and others were just single sentences, like _my beating heart will guide you home_ or  _in this room our world came true_ or  _I want to trade air with you._

Stiles swooned a little at that last one. He could only imagine just how well Derek would sing something like that, turning the simple words into beautiful music with his voice.

He read a few more and had finally found the one he was looking for, a new-ish looking bit of paper with the words _midnight is a place_ scrawled on the top of it in messy black pen, when the floorboards creaked behind him. Stiles spun around.

Derek’s face was unreadable, his lips white, and Stiles suddenly felt guilty like he’d crossed some sort of invisible line.

‘Sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘For, uh …’ he gestured to the corkboard. ‘I know it’s personal, I’m sorry.’

‘If you knew it was personal, why did you decide to look at it?’

Stiles flinched at the harsh tone in Derek’s voice.  _Shit._

‘I didn’t _decide,_ per se, I was just curious …’

Derek’s expression softened a tiny bit, but he didn’t budge. Stiles looked away when the silence got too tense.

‘Your lyrics are amazing, Derek,’ he finally muttered, staring at the ground.

Derek sighed and Stiles feared the worst.

‘Let’s just go have lunch,’ Derek said, and while that wasn’t quite a dismissal, it felt just as awful. The words settled like acid in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

‘I think I’ll go home, actually,’ he said, trying not to let his voice tremble. ‘My dad’s probably wondering where I am, anyway.’ It was a poor excuse and they both knew it.

He hoped for a moment that Derek would change his mind, beg for him to stay, but all he did was purse his lips and nod in agreement.

Stiles walked down the corridor, Derek following behind, and Laura frowned when she saw them both.

‘The nachos are getting cold,’ she complained, and Stiles’ stomach grumbled quietly when he saw a steaming plate of corn chips and salsa and cheese on the kitchen bench. As much as he wanted them five minutes ago, his appetite was gone now.

‘Sorry, but I have to go home.’ He smiled apologetically at Laura. ‘My dad’s wondering where I am.’

‘Oh,’ she said, glancing between the two of them with quickly narrowing eyes. ‘That’s a pity. It was nice meeting you, Stiles.’

‘Nice meeting you too,’ he replied. He nodded at Derek, not quite able to reach his eyes. ‘I’ll … see you later, then,’ he said.

‘See you later,’ said Derek, his voice eerily calm, and Stiles tried to ignore the fact that it sounded like a final goodbye.

He walked out of the apartment without looking back.

 

☾

 

Stiles barely made it home in time before he started trembling. He ignored his dad’s worried look and practically ran upstairs, shutting and locking his door with shaking fingers.  

Sitting down on the floor, he leant back against his bed. And then, he let the emotions that had been threatening to overtake him the entire agonising walk home do just that. He buried his face in his hands, letting the dark soothe him, but it wasn’t enough.

The tears came quickly.

He was such an _idiot._

An idiot to think that someone like Derek would never get sick of his ridiculous, hyperactive personality. An idiot to let his curiosity just overtake him and gawk at someone’s clearly very personal belongings like some sort of creepy fanboy.

And definitely the biggest idiot ever to think that he could just waltz into Derek’s life and think he actually _belonged_ there.

He really was a dumbass. 

He wasn’t that mad at Derek really, since the guy had demonstrated enough times that he seriously valued his privacy, and Stiles had stumbled into his room and completely ignored that privacy like the bumbling moron he was.

But it _hurt._ It hurt so damn much that Derek had given him that cold look and dismissed him so readily. It hurt how quickly his attitude towards Stiles had changed, all because he’d read some lyrics on a corkboard in his room.

Stiles thought he’d been worth more than that to him, and that thought broke his heart a little bit.

‘Hey, Stiles …’ His dad’s voice was quiet on the other side of the door. ‘You mind if I come in, buddy?’

‘Just a second, dad,’ Stiles managed to croak out, wiping the wetness off his face and standing up on shaky legs. He sat on the edge of his bed and took a few deep breaths. ‘You can come in.’

The door creaked open slowly and his dad took in Stiles’ appearance, probably seeing the red eyes and tear tracks on his shirt.

He sat down on the bed beside Stiles. ‘You okay, kid?’

Stiles sniffled. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We both know you’re lying, Stiles.’ His dad fixed him with a sympathetic look. ‘Is this about the girl in Sacramento?’

It took Stiles a second to remember what he was talking about, but when he did he felt like crying again.

‘Yeah,’ he finally said, his voice breaking. His dad didn’t say anything but threw an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him close, maybe sensing that Stiles didn’t really feel like talking about it right now.

They sat like that in comfortable silence for a little while until his breathing had settled properly. Finally, his dad withdrew the arm and stood up.

‘How about I make your favourite meal for lunch?’

Stiles felt like laughing and crying at the same time. _Oh, the irony._

‘Nachos sounds good, dad. Thanks.’

Ten minutes later, as he ate the corn chips heaped with melted cheese and salsa, sitting on the floor in his room, he couldn’t help wondering if Derek was doing the same thing in the same frame of mind, and the thought made his chest heavy with something indescribably awful.

He pushed the mental image out of his head.

Of course, that was when his phone started ringing. He froze when he saw whose name had flashed up on the screen.

_Derek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter is from [Wouldn't It Be Nice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD4sxxoJGkA) by The Beach Boys. 
> 
> The snippets of lyrics on Derek's wall are my own invention, naturally.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments on this fic so far, they truly make my day :)


	6. I Am Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Language is scary when over-analysed // Every word that I say seems far too contrived // What are your intentions? I’m afraid of mine // Every word that I say seems far too unkind."
> 
> \-- ['I Am Shit' - Crywank](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIJZTzm1rO8)
> 
> (yes, that is an actual band)  
> ((yes, you can laugh))

It took Laura all of ten seconds after Stiles had walked out to start yelling at him.

‘Okay Derek,’ she growled, eyes flashing dangerously, ‘what the fuck did you do?’

Derek scowled and crossed his arms, the anger from before still burning in his veins. ‘I didn’t do anything, Laura.’

‘Bull _shit,_ ’ she said, pointing a finger accusingly. ‘Ten minutes ago you were getting along like an old married couple-‘

‘We’re not a _couple_ -‘

‘And a few seconds ago, the kid runs out of the door like he’s scared you’re going to attack him or something!’ Laura exhaled heavily. ‘Seriously, what the fuck happened?’

Derek pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. ‘He found my lyrics board,’ he mumbled at last, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

When Laura didn’t respond he hesitantly looked up, only to see her staring at him incredulously.

‘Are you _serious_?’

Derek shrank back at the venomous tone in her voice. He hated to admit it, but Laura was goddamn _terrifying_ when she wanted to be.

‘I … yes?’

Laura pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘You have got to be joking,’ she muttered to herself, before fixing him with another glare.

‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that you got mad at Stiles - a man, may I remind you, that you’ve been sleeping with consistently for months and who you’ve shared more with than pretty much anyone else in a very long time – because he found some lyrics of yours and wanted to read them?’

Derek blinked. ‘Well, when you say it like that …’

‘Yeah, it’s not like he’s an enormous fan of your music or anything. I get it, Derek.’

‘Laura …’ he warned, as she turned away and made a show of putting things back in the fridge. ‘Don’t be like this.’

‘Don’t be like _what,_ Derek?’ she said, spinning around and glowering at him. ‘Don’t be like, “hey Derek, you realise you kinda just blew your opportunity to have something special with a clearly great guy, and maybe don’t lose your shit when people get too close to you?”’

Derek snapped. ‘Firstly, Stiles and me, we’re _not_ like that. And secondly, you have _no_ idea how much I value my privacy. The photo leak last year was bad enough, you saw that much for yourself.’

‘I _know_ how much you like being private,’ retorted Laura. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re this upset at Stiles reading some of your lyrics-‘

‘Because he was supposed to be different!’

Derek stood up and slammed his hands down on the counter. His chair skittered loudly across the floor. Anger roared in his ears.

‘Everyone else is always trying to pry into my life and demand to know who I’m fucking, where I live, what I look like, who my family are, every single _fucking_ detail about my life, and he …’

Derek trailed off, the adrenaline abruptly leaving his body. His fingers trembled slightly.

‘Stiles never seemed to care about any of that. All he ever asked for was my name. And when he did ask a personal question, it never felt like he was trying to pry or because he wanted to get gossip to sell to the tabloids. He just wanted to know.’

Derek exhaled heavily. ‘Seeing him there, poring over those rough drafts of my lyrics like it wasn’t my personal business … I just snapped.’

He looked down at his hands, which tingled from hitting the counter. The smooth skin of his palm had bloomed a pale pink. He swallowed.

‘Feels like he’s just like everyone else, you know?’

Laura was very quiet for a moment. Derek looked up when a warm, delicate hand slid over his and clasped it gently. Her smile was sympathetic.

‘You need to remember that you don’t know what his intentions were,’ she said at last. ‘Stiles doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who’d invade your privacy on purpose. He was probably curious about you and your music, just wanted to know more about you. You just said so yourself.’

Although a big part of Derek wanted to argue, he knew she was right. _As always, damnit._

‘I fucked up, didn’t I?’

Laura nodded. ‘Yep, you certainly did.’

Derek frowned at her. ‘Thanks for the support.’

‘What are siblings for?’ She smiled as she leant back. ‘Now, these nachos are actually getting cold, so let’s eat. And afterwards,’ she flashed him a meaningful look, ‘you can call Stiles and apologise.’

Derek grimaced and Laura shook her head.

‘Don’t give me that look, Derek,’ she said, ‘You have to apologise sooner or later.’

‘Do I really have to?’ He knew he sounded petulant, but he’d never been one for apologies and he always had no idea what the hell to say. Most times he either ended up turning into an awkward, fumbling mess, or just gave up entirely and never actually apologised. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

‘You _need_ to apologise,’ she repeated, giving him a stern look as she switched on the TV and sank into the couch. ‘You owe him that much, at least. Even if you two never see each other again.’

The thought of never seeing Stiles again – which had somehow never occurred to him through all of this – made his stomach churn. Then again, he figured he had fucked up bad enough that the kid might not even like him anymore.

Trying very hard to put that thought out of his head, he sat down next to Laura, picking at the nachos slowly. He’d lost his appetite.

He wondered briefly if Stiles was at home now, eating lunch like he was and thinking of Derek with the same bitter anger that Derek had thrown at him back in his bedroom.

But Stiles hadn’t seemed angry even when Derek had been such a dick about his personal space and more or less told him to get out of the apartment with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

No, Stiles had simply looked … sad. Guilty, even.

And Derek absolutely _hated_ the fact that he’d been the one to make Stiles – kind, warm, awkward Stiles - look like someone had punched him in the gut.

Derek swallowed, nerves already building in his stomach.

He was going to have to give Stiles one hell of an apology.  
  


☾   
  


The phone in his hand felt heavier than usual.

Derek scrolled through his contacts, shifting on his bed until he found a comfortable position, and after a long moment’s hesitation, clicked the green call button next to Stiles’ name.

It rang for an interminably long time, and when it clicked through to voicemail - _hi! you've reached Stiles, and yes that is actually my name -_ Derek groaned and hung up, throwing the phone beside him on the mattress.

Laura poked her head in the doorway. ‘How’s it going?’

Derek rubbed his eyes. ‘He’s not answering.’

‘Maybe his phone’s turned off,’ she said. ‘Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk. I wouldn’t be surprised.’

She joined him on the bed and patted his shoulder. ‘Maybe send him a text first, let him know you want to apologise. He’s not gonna answer if he thinks you’ll yell at him again.’

Derek glared at her. ‘Real helpful, Laura.’

‘Just trying to help, Derek,’ she said, sighing as she left the room.

Derek hesitated, thumb hovering over the little green text icon, before he finally relented.

He settled for ‘ _hey, sorry about before, I just wanna talk_ ’, sent it off, and gave it two minutes – two _agonising_ minutes of tapping his foot and biting his thumbnail absentmindedly - before he tried calling again.

Two rings went, and nothing.

Three and four, still nothing.

He started counting the rings, tension building, and when he was just about to hang up and call it quits, Laura’s wrath be damned, he heard a click.

‘Hello?’

Stiles’ voice was tentative and quiet, like he did half expect Derek to snap at him again. Derek’s heart sank. He really had fucked up.

‘Hey, Stiles,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I just wanted to call to say, uh …’ He grit his teeth. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No dude, it’s fine.’ Stiles let out a humourless laugh. ‘It was my fuckup anyway, you don’t need to apologise for anything.’

‘No, Stiles, I really do,’ said Derek quickly. ‘I overreacted and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m really sorry.’

There was a pause. ‘Did Laura tell you to say that?’

Derek huffed. ‘No, that was all me.’

‘Huh.’ There was a quiet rustling sound like Stiles was shifting around or something. ‘Well, in that case, I’m sorry for being so nosy before.’

‘S’alright,’ murmured Derek. ‘I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.’

Stiles hummed in agreement. ‘Be that as it may, you know I’m not gonna let you off that easy.’

‘What?’

‘Come on, Derek,’ said Stiles, and Derek could _hear_ the goddamn smirk in his voice, ‘you know me better than that. You _owe_ me one.’

‘Really?’ said Derek flatly, ‘are you being serious right now?’

‘I’m always serious,’ deadpanned Stiles, ‘ _especially_ now.’

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to groan out loud.

‘Okay,’ he finally relented, ‘what do you want?’

Stiles chuckled darkly. Derek glowered before remembering Stiles couldn’t actually see him. The kid was enjoying this payback far too much, but to be fair Derek did sort of deserve it.

‘I want you to take me to a gay bar.’

Derek froze. ‘What?’

‘I want you,’ said Stiles, and yeah he was clearly enjoying this _way_ too much, ‘to take me to a gay bar.’

Derek blinked, suddenly feeling all too much like a deer caught in headlights. ‘Why?’

‘It’ll be fun! We can dance the night away, drink a lot, make merry with other people…’

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Stiles, seriously. Why a gay bar?’

‘Okay, _fine_ ,’ Stiles huffed. ‘Look, I’m dirt-poor, I haven’t been out to a club in like a year, and I have no one to go to a gay bar with except you. And besides,’ he continued before Derek could get a word in, ‘you’re not supposed to be questioning this. You owe me one, remember?’

Derek hung his head. He desperately wanted to say no, but he did have to make it up to Stiles - even if this whole situation sounded like a recipe for total disaster. Seriously, a drunk Stiles surrounded by flamboyant people and ridiculous dance music? Derek wasn’t sure how he could survive that.

But he really needed to make it up to Stiles. And besides, in the end it was just two friends (well, Derek wasn’t exactly sure what they really were anymore - friends with benefits? fuckbuddies?) going to a gay bar for a fun night out.

‘Yeah, I’ll take you,’ he finally said, already half (well, mostly) regretting the decision.

‘Awesome,’ said Stiles. ‘Give me a second.’ There was the quiet tapping of a keyboard in the background. ‘Okay, so there’s this place opening up downtown on Friday night. It’s called “Swagger.”’

Derek frowned. ‘That’s a gay bar?’ He’d seen a flier for it that morning – Stiles had pointed it out on the walk back to his apartment – but he’d just thought it was a regular club.

Stiles laughed, the mood suddenly brighter.

‘Seriously dude, did you not realise it was a gay bar?’

Derek shrugged before he remembered Stiles couldn’t see him.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, feeling a bit sheepish.

‘Derek, the poster literally said “enjoy our _fabulous_ grand opening with fun guys and gals.”’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’

‘It had pictures of men dancing together.’

‘They could just be two guys beings bros.’

‘There was a gay pride flag on it. And seriously, “two guys being bros?”’

‘Okay, so the flag’s harder to explain,’ admitted Derek, ignoring the question, ‘but the point is, do you want to go or not?’

‘Of course,’ said Stiles. ‘How about we meet out front of the place at nine?’

‘Sounds good,’ said Derek. ‘See you then.’

‘See ya,’ said Stiles, ‘and Derek?’ He lowered his voice and Derek leant forward subconsciously.

‘Wear glitter.’

The call ended with a click.

Derek stared at the phone in his hand.

‘Well, I guess it could’ve gone worse,’ he said to himself.

Laura was sitting on the couch reading a book when he finally joined her, sinking into the soft pillows.

‘So, how’d it go?’ she said, turning a page.

‘We’re going to a gay bar on Friday night.’

She looked up and blinked at him, almost owlishly, before returning to the book. ‘I’m assuming he accepted your apology, then.’

‘I think so,’ said Derek, staring at the ceiling. ‘Not sure how we got from “I’m sorry” to “let’s go to a gay bar”, but I’m not complaining.’

She chuckled. ‘Now you just have to figure out what to wear.’

Derek huffed. ‘Please, Laura. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve ever been to a gay bar.’

‘True,’ she said, turning another page, ‘but it is the first time you’ve been to a gay bar with Stiles.’

He tilted his head to glare at her. ‘And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’

She gave him a sly grin but said nothing, looking back at her book.

‘Laura,’ he said.

She continued reading.

‘ _Laura,_ ’ he said, louder.

Her eyes remained fixed on her book, but he could see she was trying to hold back a smile.

He reached over and flicked her on the ear.

‘Hey!’ She slammed the book shut and glared at him. ‘What was that for?’

‘Sorry, but what did you mean?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, the things I put up with …’

‘Please just tell me already.’

She retaliated by reaching over and flicking him on the nose. He blinked at her.

‘You don’t need _me_ to figure out what I meant,’ she said, standing up, ‘You know how you feel about Stiles more than anyone, after all.’

Derek stared after her as she walked down the corridor and into her room. She was often annoying, but sometimes she was also so right it hurt.

Derek wasn’t exactly sure if this was one of those times, or if she was just being frustrating on purpose. Either way, he didn’t have a clue what the hell she’d meant by that. Even if the unusual, floating feeling in his chest suggested otherwise.

Derek pushed the thought out of his head and stood up. He had some shopping to do if he wanted to look good on Friday night.  
  


☾  
  


The days passed too quickly, and before he knew it he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting his hair one last time.

‘You’re going to be late if you keep fussing over your outfit,’ called Laura from the living room.

‘Shut up,’ Derek called back in a singsong voice. She appeared next to him and leant on the doorframe, studying his hair with an appraising smile.

‘You look _fine,_ Derek,’ she said. ‘Stiles won’t care anyway, he probably thinks you look like a god no matter what you’re wearing.’

He glared at her but didn’t argue, figuring she’d find a way to make the conversation even more awkward.

‘Are the leather pants too much?’ he finally said, twisting to look at his ass in the mirror. They looked goddamn amazing on him, even if he did say so himself, but they were also ridiculously flamboyant and insanely tight, hugging his curves so closely that there was almost nothing left to the imagination. He hadn’t worn them since high school, after all, and they’d been pretty tight even then.

Laura bit her lip and giggled. ‘They look great, he won’t be able to resist you.’

Derek huffed. ‘I’m not wearing them for Stiles, Laura.’

‘Sure you aren’t,’ she said breezily. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to wear nail polish?’  
  


☾  
  


When he got there a few minutes before nine, there was already a big crowd.

_Oh, shit._

In the midst of his plans with Stiles and their fight, he’d somehow forgotten he was no longer an unknown, and some people might actually know who he was. Even Laura would have to admit that being spotted at a gay club wouldn’t be the best way to come out of the closet.

Hopefully his absurdly tight pants, ripped singlet, carefully styled hair - strewn with glitter, as per Stiles' request - and the darkness of the club would throw his fans off, but all the same Derek felt familiar tension coiling its tendrils into his gut, and he leaned against a wall in the shadows, keeping his head down.

When Stiles hadn’t shown up at ten past nine he was starting to get nervous, and he was halfway through writing a text when a cab pulled up nearby.

And out stepped the most beautiful man Derek had ever seen.

He wore skinny jeans that perfectly sculpted long legs and lean muscles through pastel green fabric, and high-top shoes that were completely covered in silver glitter – _actual glitter_ – that sparkled brightly in the light from the club’s open doors.

The guy finally turned around and Derek noticed his singlet first, striped pale blue and white and a size slightly too large, enough that it hung off his thin frame and exposed tantalising slivers of pale milky skin and sharp collarbones. His brown hair was slicked back but had a few loose threads that Derek ached to run his hands through. He was wearing black smoky eyeliner, a flawless wingtip that made his eyes seem to burn even brighter, and there were smudges of gold glitter across his eyelids that made his face look utterly beautiful and eerily out-of-this-world.

It took about three seconds of Derek staring into those light brown eyes to realise that they belonged to Stiles.

And then Stiles was walking leisurely over to him, smile shy like he had no idea how fucking _good_ he looked, even though he was probably fully aware and was just acting coy to torture him on purpose.

Derek wanted to say something witty, he really did. He wanted to open his mouth and say something clever and funny and insightful that would make Stiles giggle or swoon or do something else equally unlikely.

What he said was none of that.

‘Holy fuck.'

Stiles snorted. ‘That bad, huh?’

‘You’re wearing eyeliner.’

‘My best friend’s girlfriend put it on,’ Stiles admitted, smiling crookedly. ‘She thought it’d make my eyes look good, or something.’

‘It does,’ breathed Derek, too quickly. He cleared his throat. ‘I mean, you look … really good.’

Stiles ducked his head and bit his lip.

‘You look really good, too,’ he said, looking up at Derek through long eyelashes.

They gazed at each other like that for a moment, Stiles’ perfect mouth slightly open like it always was, Derek’s eyes tracing over that jaw and those perfect cheekbones. He couldn’t seem to stop marvelling at how good Stiles’ eyes looked when they were highlighted with gold and black, and how he could feel Stiles’ body warmth even when they weren’t touching, radiating off the younger man and drawing Derek to him like the proverbial moth to a flame.

He was hyperaware of how close they were standing in the near-darkness, almost toe-to-toe. Another step forward and their chests would brush together, skin warm through the thin fabric, and it would be so easy to tilt his head down from there, brush his jaw against Stiles’, run a hand through that hair, press a kiss to those cherry red lips and feel heat against heat and tongue against tongue and feel Stiles moan against his mouth; he could pin him against the wall, one hand braced against the brickwork, the other shuffling teasingly under the waistband of those pastel green jeans, muss up that hair as he bit at Stiles’ neck and press his lips hard against Stiles’ to swallow a breathy groan when he came in Derek's hand-

They couldn’t. Not out here in the street surrounded by people, at least.

‘Let’s go inside,’ said Derek finally, and the tension between them dulled to a quiet murmur, like a faint electricity humming in the air between their bodies.

Walking together in step to the entrance, Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this comfortable going with someone to a gay club.

And then he realised – the last time he’d been to a gay club with someone else, he’d been all of sixteen, and it’d been his very first date with a guy.

He almost laughed out loud. He’d been so nervous that night, had spent weeks trying to buy a fake ID, and spent the entire date worrying if he should try to hold his date’s hand or not. God, how things had changed.

He looked sideways at Stiles, walking along leisurely, eyelids sparkling and goosebumps rising on his pale skin from the cool night breeze, smiling as crookedly as ever, and Derek had slipped his hand into Stiles’ own warm one before he even had a chance to think about it.

They locked gazes and Stiles grinned. He gave Derek’s hand a quick squeeze before looking away.

And then, without warning, lightness rose in Derek’s chest. A strange, warm feeling began twirling in his stomach, like his body couldn’t decide if he was floating, or falling, or both simultaneously, and suddenly, abruptly, with all the force of a bolt of lightning hitting him square in the goddamn face, Derek knew _._

Laura was right, had always been right, and he’d just been too damn obtuse to see what’d been happening right in front of his own eyes.

He looked at Stiles, and he fucking _knew._

And one thought went through his head again and again, as his hand trembled faintly in Stiles’ and the warm feeling rose steadily in his chest:

_I am so screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos/comments are amazing and give me life, so thanks to everyone who's said something nice (or helpful) about my work. Y'all are seriously the best :)
> 
> (Also this thing is over 23,000 words now so it's officially the longest thing I've ever written. Yikes.)


	7. Sticky Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has indeed been two years since I've updated this fic, but I always wanted to come back to it so here you are! *throws confetti*

Stiles couldn’t remember how old he was when he first saw a gay bar on TV – maybe twelve or thirteen? – but he did remember, vividly, what the gay bar had looked like; all spinning lights and colour and older, bearded men flirting with each other while holding fruity cocktails and dancing together to booming music.

The reality, it turned out, was only a little different.

‘Is that a giant disco ball?’ Stiles said.

‘Yes,’ replied Derek simply.

‘And that’s a stripper pole.’

‘Yep.’

‘There is certainly a lot more … glitter than I imagined,’ he said.

‘Well, at least you fit in,’ replied Derek with a smirk. He turned to Stiles and his smile fell slightly. ‘Look, if you want to go somewhere else-’

‘This place is amazing!’ Stiles interrupted, tugging on Derek’s shirt excitedly and noticing his bemused smile. ‘If I buy you a drink, will you go on the stripper pole?’

Derek’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Stiles …’

‘Please?’ He pouted and gave Derek - what he hoped – were his best puppy dog eyes.

Derek sighed. ‘Two drinks. Later. Maybe.’

Stiles internally self-fived, because from Derek that was as good as a yes.

He grabbed Derek’s hand and pulled him to the centre of the dancefloor. There was already a sizeable crowd here despite it not even being past ten, but then again this was the opening of the only gay bar in Beacon Hills, as far as he knew, and it seemed like most of the queer community from the whole town was here.

Stiles stepped from side to side, swaying his hips in time to the beat. Derek was awkwardly shuffling more than dancing, yet still managed to look ridiculously good - _seriously how??_ \- as always.

Stiles, swear to god, had come close to passing out when he saw Derek outside on the pavement (seriously, _leather pants?_ ) Not to mention the ripped singlet and the messy hair that Stiles just ached to run his fingers through. Derek’s reaction to Stiles’ appearance was priceless, too, eyes boggling and licking his lips like he was struggling to think of something witty to say. Stiles reminded himself to give Alison eternal thanks later for suggesting the wingtip eyeliner (‘it’s cute, it’ll accentuate your eyes’, she’d said, while Scott laughed at Stiles’ slightly scared expression. He hadn’t laughed so much after Allison punched him in the shoulder for being ‘so unsupportive, really, he’s your best _friend,_ Scott.’ Or after he’d seen just how freaking good he actually _did_ look. Allison was the one laughing quietly then, when Scott’s mouth fell open.)

The song changed and Stiles beamed when he recognised it. He leant forwards, brushing his mouth against Derek’s ear. A shiver ran over his skin when he realised how close they were.

‘I fucking love this song!’ he yelled over the music.

Derek raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

Stiles nodded enthusiastically, stepping back and lifting his arms above his head. He flung an arm out dramatically and spun around, throwing his hand to the ceiling as the beautiful, sultry tones of Lady Gaga boomed through the club – _want your bad romance …_

He broke into a borderline-manic dance as the main beat kicked in – god help him, he really did love this song – but looking around he wasn’t alone. Dozens of people were dancing with nothing held back, shouting all the words to the song to be heard above the music, sweaty masses of exposed skin pressing against each other in a frantic mess of limbs and gelled hair and glitter. Adrenaline and excitement coursed through Stiles, leaving him feeling jittery in a way that was, for once, not unpleasant, like some sort of weird high.

There were boys dressed up like him, lanky and flamboyant, with their arms thrown across the shoulders of their boyfriends; androgynous girls in plaid and girls in tight dresses grinding together, kissing hungrily without getting a single stare; older couples on couches at the side of the room, men whose beards were flecked with grey, holding hands and watching the young crowd with amusement; drag queens with impossibly perfect breasts and big hair, talking to each other and smiling with painted lips at their partners.

When Stiles had bought a fake ID from some kid at school towards the end of his final year, along with Scott he’d snuck into clubs a few times, where the music was shit and too loud and it was impossible to talk and he’d just as quickly get beaten up as kissed if he tried to dance with a guy. This club was so much better. Here, he felt like he belonged.

Stiles suddenly noticed Derek’s mouth was moving and stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. Derek leaned down.

‘You okay?’

Stiles pulled back and nodded, smiling faintly. He was better than okay. For the first time in his nineteen years, he felt safe being himself in public. It felt fucking _amazing_.

‘I’m okay,’ he said, leaning in towards Derek. ‘Just really …’ He paused, trying to find the right word. ‘Content.’

Derek smiled. ‘First time in a gay bar will do that.’

Stiles grinned. His hand was still on Derek’s shoulder. He could feel warmth radiating from beneath the singlet.

Stiles’ eyes found Derek’s, and he realised how close they were standing, almost toe-to-toe. The piercing blue of Derek’s irises traced Stiles face, then flicked down to his mouth. Then back to his eyes, staring, taunting Stiles to make a move.

He rose up and pressed his mouth against Derek’s. His eyes fluttered shut automatically as slightly chapped lips and warm skin pressed against his. As Derek’s arms snuck around his waist and he sunk into the embrace he realised just how much he’d missed the _heat_ of this, missed how it felt to press his mouth tenderly against flesh, missed the little shiver that raised hairs on the back of his neck when their lips parted and Derek’s tongue brushed, wet, against his. He’d fucking _missed_ this feeling, with an ache in his bones he didn’t even realise he’d had, a deep yearning that only became noticeable when it eased and turned into a quiet, giddy happiness.

Derek’s hand was warm against the small of his back. His fingers wandered, stroking small circles through thin fabric, and Stiles moaned softly and shuffled closer, breaking their kiss and tilting his head to press his mouth against Derek’s jaw. Faint stubble prickled against his lips. Stiles moved his mouth slowly down and pressed a kiss against the underside of Derek’s jaw, taking in the near-intoxicating hint of whatever cologne Derek was wearing and tasting the saltiness of a slight sweat, sucking in a little of the skin into his mouth and nipping just _slightly_.

Derek pushed him back, one hand splayed on Stiles’ chest. He looked up. The club’s lights had gone dim and Derek’s eyes were near unreadable in the gloom. Anxiety stirred in Stiles’ stomach until the lights flashed, purple beams in the dark, and he saw.

_Oh._

Derek’s pupils were blown wide, and from this close Stiles could see his chest rising and falling, like he was out of breath.

Derek _really_ liked being bitten _._ And _that_ turned Stiles on way more than he’d ever admit.

Stiles let out a shaky laugh and stepped back, letting Derek’s hand fall to his side. They stood like that for a few seconds, maybe a metre apart, until Stiles stepped forward, not missing the way Derek’s breath hitched just slightly.

‘You okay?’

Derek nodded. ‘How about I get us a couple of drinks?’ he said after a pause.

Stiles smiled. ‘I’d like that. Whatever’s cheap.’

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Sure.’

He made his way to the bar, joining the large throng of sweaty people waiting to be served. Stiles watched him go – _goddamn those leather pants, his ass just looked so fucking good Stiles wanted to slap it or kiss it or do something equally filthy_ – and then he had to pull his mind out of the gutter because damn it Stiles, _you don’t really want an erection in this club, do you?_

Derek soon disappeared into the mass of people anyway, so he turned away and scanned the walls for a place to sit. There was a small couch with two guys at one end of it, one of them sitting on the other’s lap, but the other end was free so Stiles pushed his way through the dancing crowd and sat down, automatically sliding out his phone from his skinny jeans and sending a quick message to Derek to let him know where he was.

He was idly flicking through his Instagram feed when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He started and looked up.

‘Hey sorry kid, did I scare you?’ It was the guy who’d been sitting on his boyfriend’s lap, speaking in a slow drawl. He sounded almost … high.

Stiles shook his head.

‘All good then, man,’ the guy said, smiling lazily and gesturing to himself, then the other guy. ‘My name’s Connor, and this is Evan, my boyfriend. We were just, like, wondering if you came here on your own.’

‘No, I-I’m here with someone else,’ said Stiles, wondering what they wanted. ‘… why?’

‘Ah that’s all good then, dude,’ said the guy – _Connor_ – squinting slightly when the lights got brighter, revealing faintly bloodshot eyes. _Definitely high._ ‘If you weren’t, like, here with anybody we’d totally have asked you to hang out with us, if you wanted.’

Evan had been silent until now, content to simply rest an arm across Connor’s shoulder, but now he leant forward.

‘Connor’s a people person,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘His friendliness can sometimes be a bit … forward, well, some would say almost _weird,_ but he means well.’ He gave Connor an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

‘Dude,’ said Connor slowly, turning to look at Evan with a petulant expression. ‘I’m totally not weird.’

Evan rolled his eyes and Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too much.

‘I’m flattered, really’, he said, leaning forward to be heard. ‘Thank you for the offer.’

‘See?’ said Connor, looking pointedly at Evan. ‘He doesn’t think I’m weird.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ said Stiles, and Evan chuckled as Connor’s mouth fell open.

‘I’m so _offended,_ ’ he said, clambering awkwardly off the couch. ‘I’m gonna go get a beer but in the meantime y’all both can suck my _dick._ ’ He flicked his long hair dramatically and walked off in the direction of the bar.

Both Stiles and Evan collapsed into a fit of giggles at the display, and that was how Derek found them a few seconds later.

He was holding two bottles of cider and Stiles reached to grab one, patting the couch next to him with his other hand.

Derek sat down, raising an eyebrow as Stiles tried to catch his breath.

‘Long story,’ he said at last, which just made Derek look even more quizzical. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ he reassured, before turning back to Evan.

‘Evan, this is Derek,’ he introduced. ‘And likewise.’ The two men nodded polite hellos but Derek was quiet, his body unusually tense beside Stiles.

‘Evan’s boyfriend Connor just went to go get a drink,’ Stiles continued, frowning when he noticed Derek visibly relax. _Weird._ He took a sip of his cider.

‘So, how long have you and Derek been together?’

Stiles spluttered, cider coming dangerously close to shooting out his nose. Derek patted his back until the coughing subsided.

‘Um …’ Stiles said, ‘We, uh …’ He looked at Derek, panicked. _Shit, what do I say?_

‘We’ve been together for a few months,’ said Derek finally, smiling, though Stiles noticed his fingers shakily picking and tearing at the label on the cider bottle.

Evan made a soft noise. ‘Oh that’s so cute, me and Connor met … two years ago, I think? Best two years of my life.’ He let out a quiet chuckle and smiled and Stiles couldn’t help but smile along with him.

‘Yeah,’ said Stiles, glancing at Derek, who was pointedly looking down at the ground. He paused before placing his hand on Derek’s knee, squeezing softly. Derek looked up for a second, too quick for Stiles to read what his eyes were saying, before looking away again.

Stiles turned back to Evan as he kept talking amiably, while anxiety coiled in his gut.

Derek had looked almost ... pained.

☾

 

‘I’m back, bitches.’

Stiles had been chatting with Evan for a couple of minutes at the most when Connor appeared in front of them with two beers in tow. He plonked onto the couch between Stiles and Evan and leant back into his boyfriend’s arms.

‘Who’s this guy?’ he said, gesturing to Derek.

‘Stiles’ boyfriend,’ said Evan, ‘they’ve been together for a few mo-’

‘Wait,’ said Connor. He sat up and leant forward, mouth pursed. ‘Don’t I know you?’

Derek’s head flicked up when he realised he was being addressed. He stared warily at Connor.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve heard from some people that I have a recognisable face for some reason, but I really don’t know why.’

‘No, dude,’ said Connor, squinting suspiciously. ‘I _definitely_ know you from somewhere. Are you famous or some shit?’ He poked Evan’s knee. ‘Doesn’t he look famous to you?’

Stiles saw Derek’s hands ball into fists. _Oh no._

Evan sighed. ‘Just drop it, sweetie.’ He smiled apologetically at them. ‘He gets like this sometimes, thinks he recognises people but actually doesn’t, it’s quite strange.’

‘No, but I _swear_ -’

Derek stood and pulled Stiles to his feet. ‘I’m very sure you don’t know me,’ he said again, hand sweaty in Stiles’, ‘and I’m very sorry but we do have to get going now.’

Evan frowned. ‘That’s fine guys, it was nice to meet you.’

‘Nice to meet you too,’ said Stiles, sensing Derek’s impatience at his side. ‘Hopefully we’ll see you again sometime.’ He waved awkwardly as Derek gripped his hand and tried to make his way through the now bigger crowd.

Stiles could still hear Evan and Connor arguing on the couch, and it was in the break between two songs that heard it - it might’ve been his ears tricking him, but he could have sworn he heard a voice say ‘ _full moon trigger_ ’.

And judging by the way Derek stopped suddenly and looked at Stiles with the most panicked expression Stiles had ever seen on him, he heard it too.

Derek pulled him roughly through the crowd now, hand tight and trembling around his, as people danced around them, with no idea what was happening.

Fear began coiling in his gut as Stiles distantly heard someone else say _‘full moon trigger’,_ then someone else, but by then they were mercifully out of the dancing crowd and Derek let go of Stiles’ hand and near-sprinted down the stairs, Stiles following quickly. He burst out onto the cool street, spotting Derek already dashing down some side alley nearby, and ran after him.

‘Derek! Hey!’ he called, turning down the alleyway. 

_Fuck._

Derek was half-squatting, back against the wall, almost curled in on himself. His shoulders rose and fell visibly with each shuddered breath.

Stiles slowly walked closer and crouched down.

‘Hey, Derek, it’s okay,’ he said softly, trying to remember what he’d done during Scott’s occasional panic attacks, what he wished would happen during his own.

‘You’re okay, Derek,’ he said, ‘nobody is following us, nobody really knows you were there-’

‘Bull _shit,_ Stiles,’ whispered Derek, lifting his head. Stiles had expected to see tear tracks but instead his nostrils were flared, eyes flashing with anger. ‘That’s bullshit. Connor knew. People knew.’ He sighed deeply, sadness twisting his mouth down.

‘I’m completely fucked,’ he said miserably, staring woefully at the far wall.

‘You’re not, Derek,’ said Stiles, hating how much that sounded like a lie even though he really, _really_ hoped nothing would come of this. He paused. ‘Is it okay if I touch you?’

Derek paused, then nodded.

Stiles leant forward and wrapped Derek in his arms, trying to envelop as much of the older – and much taller, and more muscular, and simply _bigger_ – man that he could. ‘I’m so sorry, Derek,’ he said, as his breathing slowed to a normal pace.

Derek shook his head. 'Wasn't your fault,' he mumbled into Stiles' shoulder. He disentangled his arms and clutched Stiles back. 'Should've known I couldn't just be normal for one  _fucking_ night.' Anger dripped in his voice by the end of the sentence. 

Stiles held him tighter, searching for the right words and failing to find them. What could he say?  _You can be normal, can totally go anywhere without people recognising you, even this dumb little town,_ because  _that_ was a lie, and for him to be recognised in one of the most incriminating places possible - a gay bar, hand in hand with a teenager with a fake ID--

_Oh fuck._

Stiles had been thinking about Derek this whole time, but this was  _bad._ What if his dad found out? What if somebody else had recognised  _him_ and called him out on the fact that Stiles was technically underage, how bad would that make Derek look? Derek being caught in a gay bar was bad, but Derek caught in a gay bar with a teenager? That was the scandal the tabloids fucking _dreamed_ of happening. 

'Hey Stiles?'

Stiles cleared his throat. 'Yeah?'

'You're kinda crushing me.' 

It took a second for the words to kick in but then Stiles relaxed the tension in his arms and apologised, letting go. He awkwardly rubbed Derek's back in small circles, trying his best to push down the anxiety making his stomach churn and bringing a lump to his throat.  _Focus, Stiles._

'I think maybe we should go back to yours,' he said after a beat. Derek just nodded. 

Stiles held his hand out for Derek's and stood, pulling him to his feet. Derek didn't let go until they'd walked out of the alleyway, where he slid his hand out of Stiles' and let it fall awkwardly to his side. He looked around, biting his lip, shoulders still tense, before starting to walk down the street in the direction of his house. 

Stiles fell into stride next to him, trying very hard not to notice the gap that seemed to have opened up between them, or how the absence of Derek's hand in his made him feel colder than he had ever thought possible. Instead he kept walking, and tried not to think about anything at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ connor and evan are based on two guys i actually met at a club one night (bless their sweet gay hearts, wherever they are)
> 
> \+ i know it's been a very long time since i've updated, but life has changed a lot in those two years (fell in love for the first time, got my heart broken, graduated uni, started a second degree, travelled, worked, etc.) i'll come back to this fic when i have the time and i'm very thankful for anyone who still wants to read it when I do ^-^


End file.
